


Kukalaka POV

by almaasi



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Agnostic Julian Bashir, Eid ul-Fitr, Fasting, First Kiss, Fluff, Found Family, Gift Giving, Illustrated, M/M, Muslim Julian Bashir, No Angst, POV Kukalaka, POV Third Person Limited, Prayer, Queer Muslims, Questioning, Ramadan, Religious Discussion, Romance, Theology, a fic written by a Muslim!, but ultimately positive, taking a questioning view of Islam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: (Kukalaka point-of-view.) Enjoy a teddy bear’s perspective of unfolding romance and evolving psyches.Recently, Julian has been skipping lunches with Garak. Garak arrives at Julian’s quarters and demands to know why. Turns out, Julian is secretly trying to reconnect with his Muslim heritage for the month of Ramadan, so has been going without food or water during daylight hours, as religious tradition decrees. Well! In that case! If Garak can’t have lunch with his dear doctor, dawn and dusk meals will certainly do. And if he happens to linger afterwards... that’s probably not against the rules.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 113
Kudos: 239





	1. Reconnection

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was kindly beta’d by [Libby](https://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com/), [anupalya](https://anupalya.tumblr.com/), [Hope](https://sippingteabythesea.tumblr.com/), [lighthouse](https://fineillgettheapp.tumblr.com/), my sister [Amara](https://sweetdreamspootypie.tumblr.com/), plus MY MOTHER and MY FATHER. (Mother thought it hit too close to home and gave her major déjà vu, but was delighted by a few sections here and there. After nine years of me writing, this was the first story of mine that my dad has ever read. Religious/Islamic history is his special interest, so he had some suggestions. He did not like the gay kissing, but was pleasantly surprised by the fact I write well, and enjoyed my characterisations of Garak and Julian. So that’s a thing, I guess.)
> 
> Special thanks to [conceptadecency](https://conceptadecency.tumblr.com/), who chatted to me about Muslim!Julian when we first got acquainted, and helped me realise that the DS9 fandom was exactly the fandom space I’ve needed forever. I get to write the queerest, most personal stories here, naturally full of the representation I crave, and I’m grateful to the people in this fandom (or _not_ in this fandom, even) for wanting to read them.
> 
> Also thanks to Mr. Siddig el Fadil for exemplifying so many things in Julian Bashir that made him the single most personally-relatable fictional character I’ve ever come across in my life. And now I get to project wildly and/or live vicariously through him. Heehee.  
> I'm posting this right after [Sid's zoom chat](https://www.sidcity.net/sid-city-social-club/) and he said he wants to read this so HI SID

  
  


From his place propped up on the living room dresser, beloved teddy bear Kukalaka had a good view of Julian’s quarters. And from his place in Julian’s life, he had a good view of Julian’s inner psyche.

Perhaps ‘thoughts’ weren’t something Kukalaka possessed, but a care and consciousness resided within him.

He observed, and radiated constant love.

  
☪  


_Blee-bleep._

That was the door. A familiar, if rare noise.

Taking a deep breath, Julian put down his padd, then levered himself up off the sofa and tied his evening robe around his waist for modesty. He slogged his way across his dim quarters and to the doors, a fist hovering against his yawning mouth. “C’me in,” he uttered, once halfway there.

The doors slid open, and Garak the Cardassian stood there in the hallway, a dark shadow of forest green and even more shadowy intention. “Oh dear,” Garak said, apparently surprised by Julian’s haggard appearance – as if he’d be fully dressed at midnight. “I _hope_ I’m not disturbing you.”

“You are, a bit,” Julian said with a dry look and the barest hint of a smile. “What can I do for you?”

Garak let himself in.

Julian allowed his friend to step past, responding only by following his movement with his body. His hands moved to quickly tighten his robe.

Garak got to the middle of the living room, then turned around to face Julian with a breath caught in his mouth; he brimmed with restrained energy, a raincloud ready to break. “I’m not sure if you’re _aware_ , doctor, but today marks the second time in two weeks that you’ve requested to ‘skip’ our weekly lunch together.”

Julian’s shoulders dropped while his jaw set with trepidation. He shook his head. “I am aware. We can reschedule; I told you that over the commline.”

“Indeed you did. But a break in routine is a very unusual choice for you, doctor. Six years of nigh-undisturbed meetings and you pick two _consecutive_ weeks to disrupt our intertwined schedules. I’m no expert in probability, but I’d hazard a guess that this is not an _improbable_ choice, but a necessary one; a repeated decision to ‘ _reschedule_ ’ your time with me must surely be related to some... ongoing disturbance in your life.

“Furthermore, on _top_ of finding myself dining alone at Quark’s last week, doctor, imagine my surprise when I discovered that the very lovely dabo girl you’ve been _seeing_ over this past month has been unceremoniously _dumped_ for no apparent reason.”

Julian hung his head.

“Now,” Garak said with no small amount of ire, but a soft touch of concern, “sweet Iñikra is quite unmoved by your changing attitude towards her. Apparently she and you had little more than a passionate fling. But I, on the other hand, took it upon myself to investigate further—”

“Garak!”

“ _And_!” Garak charged on, one hand up to silence Julian’s protests, “to some avail, it seems. Quark informs me you haven’t been into his establishment in a full fortnight. Nurse Jabara let slip that you’ve been taking ten-minute breaks from work at unusual yet predictable times over the same time period.

“Now, under the circumstance that our friendship was the only thing that had been furloughed, perhaps I could put this down to a mistake I’ve made, some upset I’ve caused you, and could react accordingly – but instead I find myself unsure what to do.

“Thus, my dear doctor, I must ask...” He leaned forward, soft-eyed and soft-voiced: “What’s wrong?”

Julian’s mouth slid open, eyes set on Garak’s. “What’s... wrong?”

“If there’s anything I can do to ease your troubled situation, it could be done more effectively if I knew the nature of the problem.”

Julian smiled a little, head tilting fondly. “Garak, there’s nothing _wrong_. I’m fine. You don’t have to worry. There’s a lot of work on my plate, that’s all. I have a... project... that I’m working on. Everything will be back to normal in a couple of weeks.”

“With quite a number of our _lunches_ missed in the meantime,” Garak uttered. “Perhaps your ex-lover can be so easily deterred, but she is surrounded by friends. When _I_ lose one so dear to me, I _feel_ it, doctor. If there is truly nothing the matter, and all your actions are indeed meaningless, then I believe I have the right to know what I did to offend you so. I can only assume that is the issue. There are any number of other times you could dine with me outside of work hours, or inform me of your project, yet you elected to stand me up. If there’s anything I can do to fix this, doctor, tell me.”

“Garak...” Julian slumped, eyes turning shiny and round. “It’s not you. It really isn’t.”

“Then prove it and tell me the real reason. Since it’s certainly not _work_.”

Julian hummed, head down. He palmed at his forehead, then ruffled his dark and messy hair. “I’m sorry I left you sitting alone. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“An apology is not what I’m looking for, doctor. Don’t try and dissuade me. I want an explanation.”

Julian huffed a tiny laugh, looking across the two-step gulf between himself and Garak. He hugged himself, slim shoulders rising inside his robe as he let his eyes wander the room. “I’m... just...? Hmmm.”

Garak took a step closer and laid a hand on Julian’s bicep. Their eyes met. “Any secret of yours is safe with me, doctor.”

Julian smiled, genuinely this time. He swallowed and gave in; his shoulders sank, posture relaxing. “Frankly, it’s nothing to do with anyone. It’s entirely personal. I’m just trying to – I don’t know – _reconnect_ , I suppose, with my Muslim heritage.”

Garak searched his eyes. “And this is the ‘project’ that’s taken up so much of your precious time.”

Julian wavered. “It’s not really a project. More of a practise. Again: it’s temporary. Just seeing how it fits. Really, I kind of hate it so far.”

“And yet you persevere.”

“I’m not about to quit, Garak. Not until I’ve seen the month of Ramadan through to the end.”

Garak tilted his head by a few centimetres, finally letting his hand slide down Julian’s arm and drop away. “Tell me, doctor, what is this heritage of yours you’re so keen on reconnecting with?”

Julian shrugged a shoulder as one hand rose to rub the back of his neck. “There’s this seventeen-hundred-year-old Earth religion called ‘Islam’. Originating in the Middle East. That’s... me; that’s my culture; that’s how I was raised as a child.”

Garak, intrigued, followed Julian as he went to sit on the sofa.

Garak sat too, eyes locked on Julian’s face. “The act of reconnecting implies there was a disconnect somewhere down the line.”

“Oh, hugely. When I left Earth,” Julian said, “and left my parents – it was too late, really. I already hated everything they’d shaped me into. Everything they believed about the origin of the universe and how I ought to live my life had been purged from me out of anger.”

“Why let it back in, now?”

“Curiosity, I suppose. Desperation.” Julian shrugged, thumbs fiddling with the waist tie of his robe on his lap. “Major Kira speaks so highly of faith. How it helps people... cope, when there’s little else that helps. I don’t know. I just— I want _something_. Something that helps me make sense of everything that’s going on in the universe right now. Something that lets me believe this war isn’t all random cruelty; there’s a _purpose_ to it, a meaning in it, even for me personally. Or maybe it’s just a distraction. I’ve needed a distraction.”

“And your Islam helps, does it?”

“No.” Julian bowed forward and set his head in his hands. “I don’t know _what_ I’m doing.”

“What _are_ you doing that you’re so unsure of? Rama...dan?”

“Hm. Well? Um. Ramadan is... It’s a special month in the Islamic calendar. The calendar goes by lunar months, based on the phases of Earth’s moon. So from new moon to new moon, Muslims – the followers of the Islamic religion – practice abstinence. We devote extra time to pray to God – Allah – and we consciously find value in and show gratitude for our resources. Food, especially.”

Garak waited for more, but none came. “And that troubles you.”

“Well, I’m always hungry and I don’t really see the point of it, so _yah_.”

Garak chuckled. Then he pondered. “If you’d join me for lunch, doctor, I’m sure you’d be less hungry.”

“No, but _that’s_ the point! I’m not meant to eat. I get up before dawn to pray – an estimated dawn, obviously – twenty-six hour cycles on this station and no real sunlight, so it’s not actually dawn – and I eat breakfast. Then don’t eat or drink until sundown. I’m not _meant_ to eat lunch.”

“Hm...”

“Those are the rules. From sunrise to sunset, I have no food, no water – not even a sip! – no sex. _Especially_ not premarital sex. That’s why I broke up with Iñikra. No alcohol. We’re not even supposed to drink alcohol usually. No ‘unnecessary’ activities, like games or gambling. Definitely not the violent or sexual ones I usually play in the holosuite. I mean, Quark’s bar is basically a smorgasbord of un-Islamic temptation.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, doctor, I see your problem. You’ve indoctrinated yourself into a religion that shuns all enjoyable activities.”

“Urgh, tell me about it.” Julian rubbed his eyes. “But it’s not the religious aspect I’m interested in.”

He sat up straighter, considering his feelings before he spoke. “I’m completely divorced from my family line; no doubt very little original DNA remains after what my parents did. I’m floating in outer _space_. Literally. And emotionally. I just—

“I came _from_ somewhere. I want to be part of something, I think. Billions of Muslims have come and gone before me, and most of them participated in Ramadan as I’m doing now. I want to feel like I _have_ a family. Like... Like I’m not alone.”

Garak stared. “And yet you extricate yourself from all friendly company.”

Julian glanced at him guiltily. “I really am sorry. I just didn’t want to tell anyone what I was doing. I’m a bit embarrassed, really. This whole thing is so _silly_.”

“I disagree.” Garak set a hand on Julian’s half-covered knee and squeezed. “Introspection of one’s family ties, whether in thought or in physical practise, is a valued skill in any Cardassian. Your willingness to put your body and lifestyle on the line to engage with something so deeply rooted in your history is quite remarkable, doctor. Even if it does ultimately come to nothing. This is not time or effort wasted.”

“You think?” Julian looked at him hopefully.

“Oh, my dear doctor, a month of toil now could present you with a lifetime of fresh opportunities,” Garak said warmly.

He lifted his hand from Julian’s knee, and the corner of the robe dropped away, revealing Julian’s thigh. Julian tugged the robe back up to cover himself, but by then Garak was already on his feet.

“Now,” Garak said matter-of-factly, straightening his green tunic and giving Julian a gentle smile. “If lunches are off the books for the immediate future, then dawn and dusk meals shall certainly do instead. Would it be impertinent of me to join your fasts in solidarity?”

Julian blinked. “I’m sorry...? _Join_ — You... want to fast too?”

“If I may be permitted.”

Julian’s lips gaped around empty breath, then he shook his head and nodded at once. “Oh. No. I’m sure you’re _allowed_ , and I certainly wouldn’t want to _stop_ you, but—”

“In that case, as you’ve wished, you will not be alone.” Garak bowed his head. “The best of nights to you, doctor. I will see you before daybreak.”

With that, he turned and left.

Julian, now sitting in a new silence, fretted.

He huffed.

Then he got up and went to the dresser where Kukalaka rested, and he picked up his stuffed bear. He gave him a hug – and Kukalaka’s quiet consciousness was overtaken by the colourful inner turmoil churning inside Julian’s belly, flutters in his chest, and the agitation abuzz in his mind.

Kukalaka responded with an outpouring of love, bright light and warmth that sought out each frittering sense in Julian’s soul and soothed it with a fluffy, non-judgemental touch.

Julian pulled out of the hug and looked carefully at Kukalaka, held up almost to eye-level. “Heeee’s not going to do it, is he,” Julian said with an amused lilt. “Garak’s obviously kidding. Of course he won’t _actually_ be here in the morning. I can’t believe he could go _three_ hours without a snack. He couldn’t survive fourteen-hour fasts.”

Julian took Kukalaka towards the bedroom, ready to sleep.

“But,” he uttered, pulling back the covers, “it would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

He snuggled in, cuddling up to his bear.

“Not... doing this alone.”

  
☪  



	2. God Exists in Breakfast Food

Julian tried not to look surprised when Garak showed up at his door a short while after 0400 hours, but his parted lips and raised eyebrows and mutter of, “Oh,” rather gave him away.

Garak seemed weary. “At any other time, doctor, I might have gone into some depth regarding your lack of faith in _me_ at a time you’re so open to exploring your sense of faith. But, alas, it is too early, and I merely wish to consume whatever it is you recommend I consume before the day begins.”

“You really don’t have to do this, Garak,” Julian said, tucking Kukalaka under his arm and hurrying after Garak, who’d trudged into the room with a fluffy blanket hugged over his shoulders and a sour look on his face. “I didn’t _ask_ you to do this. It’s hard to do. It’s very nice of you, and all, but—”

“Debate me when I’m awake,” Garak grouched. He pulled out a chair from the tiny dining table by the porthole and sat down.

Julian sighed and worked up a wonky smile. “Well, if you’re sure. Don’t feel obliged to fast all the way through to nightfall.”

“Again, I abhor your lack of faith.”

“You and my parents both,” Julian uttered.

He went towards the replicator and stood there for a while, thinking. In the cool light from the replicator front, his under-eyes showed up puffy and dark brown. All of him still shivered a little from the shock of waking up too early and being cold out of bed. Snug in the crook of his elbow, Kukalaka felt his vibrations.

Eventually Julian began to order his food, starting with two empty bowls, then a decently-sized chicken chana masala with a small stack of buttered rotis. He lifted those platters to balance on one forearm, then ordered two glasses of warm chai latte and took those in a single hand. Then he ordered two kinds of tea, a thick lentil soup, grain-toast soldiers with garlic butter, and two boiled eggs.

He carried all of the food (and Kukalaka) to the table. When Garak saw how many dishes Julian balanced, he lurched to his feet, dropping the blanket as he hurried to relieve Julian of the tea before his fingers twisted in the handles. He then began shifting plates from Julian’s arms to the table, shoving each further back towards the wall as he added more.

“Hydration, protein, fat, and slow-burning carbohydrates: that’s what we need,” Julian said.

Garak looked at the feast in awe.

“Sit,” Julian said. “Eat.”

Garak picked up his blanket, draped himself in it, then sat opposite Julian. He pulled a napkin out of seemingly nowhere and tucked it into the collar of his patterned bedclothes.

Julian set Kukalaka with his back to the window, propping him up twice when he slipped down.

“Keeping us company, is he?” Garak asked of the bear.

“He likes seeing what I eat,” Julian said.

“Does he.”

“Mm.” Julian picked up his Tarkalean tea, set his nose over the steaming mug, and closed his eyes. “Make sure you drink. And spread the sips out between bites, otherwise it’s just going to go right through you and all that space in your stomach would be wasted.”

Garak, mildly chagrined, tugged a serving spoon out of the masala and began scooping food into his empty bowl. He then wriggled a buttered flatbread off the stack of other rotis, tore some, and began to eat.

“Remember when you’d never had curry before?” Julian smiled. “Now look at you. You’re a pro.”

“It’s four o’clock in the morning, doctor; I don’t remember anything besides how much I miss my warm bed.”

Julian smirked. “I remember when you thought I was trying to kill you because I gave you spicy food.”

Garak just grunted, mouth full.

“Drink,” Julian reminded him, pushing Garak’s red leaf tea towards him. “And this.” The warm latte followed. “Milky. Cardamom and cinnamon. Sweet. It’s good.”

“Hm.”

It was a sleepy breakfast. Neither of them were especially talkative, as their mouths were busy and their brains were blank.

Occasionally, Julian would move his hand and it would brush Kukalaka’s white-tipped paw, and a clear flash of emotion would transfer. Uncertainty filled Julian, more and more as the meal went on. But with it came intrigue. Was Garak really going to do this? Not knowing was a mystery.

But Julian was comforted by mysteries.

Soon the plates were polished off and the drinks were gone. Some leftovers remained – nothing Julian didn’t try and cram down his gullet anyway.

Finding himself definitely too full to eat another bite, Julian patted his plumping middle and muttered, “Computer, time?”

“ _Time is oh-four-fifty-four hours._ ”

“Hm, good timing. Six minutes until DS9’s automated daybreak. This is the part where I recite a niyyat – an intention to start my fast. Then there’s a ritual ablution to do before my dawn prayer.”

Garak looked halfway between alert and foggy-eyed, peering at Julian with a small smile. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“Do you want to say the intention with me?” Julian asked, fiddling with a tuft of Kukalaka’s fur. “If you really intend to fast, I mean. Then again, it would be a bit peculiar, you invoking my deity.”

“I said I’d keep a fast, doctor, and I shall. Tell me the recitation and I’ll repeat it.”

“Right. Well. I’ll say it in Arabic, but the Universal Translator’s probably going to translate anyway, so...” He cleared his throat. “I intend to keep my fast today, in the name of Allah, during this holy month of Ramadan.”

Garak blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I intend to keep my fast today, in the name of Julian Bashir, during this holy month of Ramadan.”

“Garak!” Julian laughed.

“I’d hardly want your god to take issue with me shouldering my way in where I don’t belong.”

“If you want to participate, you belong,” Julian said kindly. He smiled. “At least, I hope that’s true.” He lowered his eyes and his chin, picking up Kukalaka and holding him at the edge of the table, which was piled with stacked-up dishes. “I’d hate to imagine that all the Muslims on Earth or spread across the Quadrant would reject me for how much I’ve strayed over the years.”

“As an outcast myself,” Garak said, “I hope there’s ample opportunity for both our redemptions. And, if this does indeed turn out to be the path for you, doctor, it will be all the richer, for the travelers who stray from the path are even more glad to find it again, I think, compared to those who have never known any other way to tread.”

“True wisdom,” Julian smiled.

“I’m wiser on a full stomach.”

“Then I worry for you, come mid-afternoon.”

Garak chuckled. “As do I, doctor. As do I.”

  
☪  


“Begin personal log.”

Julian grasped Kukalaka and flopped back onto his sofa, lying down and throwing a socked foot over the backrest.

“Well, it’s gone fifteen-hundred hours. Garak says he’ll be here before twenty-hundred, and we’ll have dinner.

“I, um—” Julian lifted Kukalaka and grinned up at him. “I went by his shop around midday. I had things to order, but I suppose I was also curious to find out how he was doing. Hungry, evidently. I could hear his stomach growling over his fabric-cutting desk. I swear he was trying to talk louder to cover the noise.

“He’s hidden away all his snacks. Usually he keeps those horribly salty Bolian tree nuts within arm’s reach, and decent chocolates under the desk, and he’s always sipping tea when I pop in, but today— Hoo! Not an edible thing in sight. I don’t know whether he’s just keeping up appearances, but it... it kind of seems like he’s actually making an effort. Who knows whether he’ll make it to iftar. I think he will. He keeps ribbing me about having no faith in him, but... mm. He’s gone without food and water for _far_ longer than a single day in the past, doing worse and harder things than sewing. He’ll make it.

“Anyway, the point is,” Julian went on, tossing his bear up a few times and catching him, “He was a bit short with me, but I managed to explain to him what I wanted to order. I can’t believe that of all the things he’s made – tunics, dresses, ballgowns, _tail_ -warmers, hats, tuxedos – he’s never once made a shalwar kameez. I had to draw a picture on his padd with his pokey designer’s stylus. He thought I was trying to order a dishdasha or a sari, and those are _not_ the same. Do Arabs not come to space, or what? People are still wearing the things on Earth, and I can’t imagine they’ll ever go out of fashion.

“Come to think of it, he probably knows perfectly well what a shalwar kameez is, and he was playing me. He just _wants_ to put me in a sari. That’s it. Wouldn’t put that past him. He’d love a bit of midriff showing, wouldn’t he?”

A sneaky smirk crawled up Julian’s face, and he schooled it away. “Um. Yes. Anyhow. I told him how it’s traditional to buy and wear new clothes to celebrate the end of Ramadan. Of course he thought that was marvellous. He would. Ever the tailor.”

Julian drew in a deep breath. “Ahhhhh. Okay. I’m hungry. That’s not news. My shift’s over, and I have a few hours – and all I can think about is my mother’s Turkish-style eskender. I’m off to find a pan and dig up that frontier-survival cooking element I brought from Earth and make couscous. And replicate some lamb meat... and... Mm. Hmm... Carrot...

“Oh. End personal log.”

  
☪  



	3. The Consciousness of Kukalaka

The first thing Garak did when he arrived was stand in the doorway and apologise. “I was terribly impolite to you at the shop earlier, doctor. Truly, I don’t know _what_ came over me when I complained that you wanted embroidery. Opportunities for detailing like that are rare treats for me. Time-consuming, and, yes, there is the occasional hand cramp, but I assure you, I’m _more_ than happy to accommodate your requests. Especially for this ‘Eid’ celebration at the end of Ramadan.”

Julian stood by the open door, waiting for Garak to enter, but Garak didn’t. Julian started to smile. “I forgive you. For goodness’ sake, come in, your twitchiness is making me antsy.”

Garak hurried inside, clearly relieved. He made eye contact with Kukalaka on the sofa, then looked back to Julian.

“I wouldn’t lock you out,” Julian assured him, grinning. “You were hungry; you got grumpy. This is your first fast, and that’s always the worst. I expected a little irritability.”

Garak managed a chastised smile. “Just assure me it’s not too long until we can break our fasts. I’m beyond famished. The world is getting a little fuzzy at the edges.”

“You’re right on time, actually. I was going to comm you if you didn’t get here in a minute. Now...”

Julian sat down at the table, where there were two room-temperature glasses of water ready, and a bowl of brown fruit sitting alone. Kukalaka had never seen the fruit before, and no doubt Garak hadn’t either, so Julian explained, “These are dates. It’s the fruit of a palm tree. They’re the juicy, sweet kind, not the horrible dry ones that scratch your mouth and get stuck in your teeth.”

Garak sat slowly, looking suspiciously at the fruit. “And the delicious savoury smell in here is emanating from these, is it?”

“Oh. No. I cooked.”

“You cooked!”

“I cooked,” Julian smiled. “But first we break our fasts, then I pray, _then_ we eat properly. I’d be mad to do all that bending and getting up and down on a full stomach. This morning was bad enough.”

Garak squinted. “Hm.”

“The prayer only takes a few minutes; you won’t have to wait long,” Julian assured him. He glanced up. “Should be soon...”

As if on cue, the computer began to play an adhan call throughout the room, the same audio clip that had played five times a day for two weeks and a day. A deep, musical voice carried over Arabic vowels and swooped through haunting pleas as the singer invited an absent community to gather for worship.

Julian translated as each stanza ended. Although ‘ _Allahu-akbar_ ’ repeated four times, he only said it once: “God is Great.”

He went on: “I bear witness that there is none worthy of worship but Allah.

“I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah.

“Come to pray. Come to pray.

“Hurry to salvation. Hurry to salvation.

“God is Great.

“There is no god but the One God.”

The adhan call ended, and the room rang with silence.

“Beautiful,” Garak said, clearly moved by the passion in the song. Then he leaned forward slightly to ask, “Do you really believe the lyrics? As I’ve seen it, you believe in the Bajoran Prophets. You’ve never shown any qualm with others practising their faiths. Is all that about to change?”

“Change? What?! Just because I believe in something, doesn’t mean everyone else has to as well! The universe is far too diverse for that kind of unity, and we all have our reasons for believing in something seen or unseen. Mutual tolerance and acceptance is enough, isn’t it? Besides, Garak, whether or not I _believe_ it all right now doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the sentiment it projects.

“You’re right, though. There _are_ aliens in the wormhole, and I believe they have ‘godlike’ powers.” Julian shrugged. “But I believe in them the same way I believe in Allah, I suppose. I’m not _sure_. I have no solid proof. Technically I have more proof that the Bajorans’ gods are real than I do for my own. But...” he tilted his head and realised, “You know, I like that.”

“You do?”

Julian shoved the bowl of dates closer to Garak. “Take one. O Allah, I have fasted for you, and I break my fast with your sustenance.”

Garak took a date and studied it for a moment, then nodded to Julian and said, “O Julian, I have fasted for you, and I break my fast with this exceptionally unusual fruit you’ve replicated.”

Julian grinned, shaking his head. “Bismillah.” He ate.

“Bis-what?”

Julian mumbled through a full mouth, “Means ‘in the name of Allah’. ‘S what you say before starting things. ‘Specially eating. It’s like a good luck thing, kind of. Or ‘bottoms up’.”

“Hm.” Garak ate his date. He made a face. Then he stopped making a face. “Not as vile as they look.”

“Told you,” Julian smiled, sipping his water. “Sweet. Moist. Squishy. And nutritious. People survive in the desert on dates alone.”

“I’m sure.”

“Spit out the pip,” Julian said, offering Garak a tiny dish with his own pip residing at the bottom.

Garak obediently spat the pip into the bowl, then he took a second date.

“I’m going to wash,” Julian said, getting to his feet. “Don’t fill up on dates; I made us a whole entire dinner.”

“Doctor, I could eat all the dates, plus the containing bowl, and still have room for a full-grown targ.”

Julian laughed, holding Garak by the shoulder as he passed.

Julian headed to the bathroom and performed his wudu ablutions. It was all a bit rushed, since Garak was waiting; he almost tripped with his foot in the sink and rescued himself with a trio of hops and a hand slammed on the wall. The thumps and water sloshes were unmistakable, heard by Kukalaka and Garak alike.

Julian returned to the living room, damp yet refreshed. Right beside the sofa, he flapped out a folded bedsheet he’d been using as a prayer mat. He lay it neatly on the carpet, facing Earth – which, at this time in DS9’s rotation, happened to be towards the door and away from Garak at the table.

Taking a deep and calming breath, Julian stood at the short end of the mat, and with open hands lifting up beside his ears, he began his maghrib salat. Hands locked over his navel, head down, eyes closed.

Kukalaka had been knocked to the edge of the sofa when Julian laid out his mat. When Julian bent with his hands on his knees, Kukalaka toppled into contact with the side of his ankle. Now the bear sensed what Julian’s felt: heat in the back of his neck, prickles dancing down his spine. Garak was watching him and that made him _burn_.

He rushed his prayer somewhat, too, not merely because he was hungry, but because it was just plain embarrassing to have to mutter every stanza aloud. He was still relearning the prayers, and despite committing them to memory after one glance through Starfleet’s data files, he felt clumsy for lack of practise. Saying them all in front of Garak, and sticking his buttocks up towards him every time he rolled into full kneel, forehead to the sheet, made him feel terribly vulnerable.

He finished his prayer kneeling, hands on his knees, turning his head to his right to greet his recording shoulder angel, then to the left to greet the other. Once done, he bowed his head and cupped his hands and said a few duas, apologising in his head for rushing and offering some thank-yous for letting him _not_ burn all the food he’d cooked this afternoon.

He hurried to his feet, folded his mat, picked up his bear, and with his eyes down and cheeks blushing, he went to put Kukalaka on the table.

“So that _is_ what you’ve been taking breaks from work to do,” Garak said. “Five prayers a day, yes? Fajr at dawn, zuhur at midday, asr during the mid-afternoon, maghrib at sunset, and isha at night.”

“You looked it up!”

“I’ve done some rudimentary research.”

Julian chuckled, batting Garak on the arm as he stepped past. “Go and wash your hands, Garak. I’ll serve dinner.”

Garak left. He returned to find a wide dish set before him on the table, filled plump and tall with jagged strips of tender brown meat lain over jasmine rice, plus beige couscous, shredded lettuce, and carrot in separate piles, next to a fat dollop of hummus, all drizzled with red and white sauces.

“Spectacular,” Garak said.

Julian beamed, setting down to eat. He was still hot under the collar.

“I suppose,” Garak said, taking the fork and napkin Julian offered him, then digging into his food, “with the use of replicators, the idea of the ‘halal’ or ‘lawful’ food you require is redundant. This meat is not really meat. No animal was sacrificed to make your meal, so no prayer must be said at the slaughter.”

“Urgh. Can we talk about something other than dead animals? I’m eating.”

“Naturally.”

Garak grew distracted by the food, eyes shut, a hum and a sigh of bliss escaping him as he enjoyed his meal.

Eventually he said, “Earlier, doctor, you mentioned that you _like_ the fact you have no proof of your god’s existence. How can that be true? A man of science like yourself... A medical doctor! You require proof for everything, do you not?”

Julian munched in one cheek, rolling a shoulder. “It... Hm. How do I explain?”

His eyes wandered his quarters, from the dark, well-trodden carpet to the crumpled sofa cushions, then the oval porthole beside the table which overlooked the ever-expanding universe. His eyes then fell to Kukalaka leaning against the window, who watched Julian’s fork go still and his eyes light up in a smile.

“Kukalaka,” Julian said. He swallowed his food and spoke freely: “My teddy bear. He’s been with me all my life, right by my side. I’ve tended to his wounds. He’s tended to mine. I lost him for a while – I gave him to someone who didn’t give him back, but someone else returned him to me recently. And now good old Kuuks and I are practically inseparable.

“Now, the thing is... I’m aware Kukalaka has no ‘consciousness’. No free will. No actual personality. He’s a bag of fluff. Logically – every part of me but my inner child – _knows_ this. Yet, he’s not just a stuffed bear to me. Look, I know full-well I’m projecting a personality onto him, but it’s... comforting. He’s a piece of me. And so much _more_ than that. Nonsensical as it is, I believe he cares about me. I have absolutely no proof. In fact, I have ample proof it’s _not_ true. And yet I believe it with everything I have. Life would be worse without him.

“Same goes for the universe. God. Allah. Elohim. The Almighty Creator. Whatever you call that great unknowable force that drives existence. The same way there’s no proof Kukalaka is ‘real’, there’s no proof there’s a creator, but I... Hm. It’s not that I _believe_ it, exactly, but I’d like to give the idea the benefit of the doubt.

“There’s such a history in science and medicine of people coming up with theories that sound ludicrous, only to be proven right centuries later. As far as I’m concerned, giving unproven theories the benefit of the doubt _is_ a very scientific thing to do. Someone has to prove a theory eventually, don’t they, and that won’t happen until they devote themselves to investigating. Like I said before... I’m curious.

“I think our reality offers infinite possibilities, and I’ve seen enough proof that godlike creatures _can_ exist that I feel it’s well within the realm of possibility that everything in existence started with a big bang at the behest of something _outside_ of time and space and our concept of reality. Am I making sense?”

“I’m with you, doctor.”

“Right.” Julian nodded.

He carried on: “On the one hand, there’s the idea that there _is_ a god. Then on the other, how do I know that same god cares about being prayed to, and wants me to starve for a day? I don’t. Maybe it’s not true. But maybe I don’t care. Maybe I really am doing this because my ancestors did it, and I want to feel closer to them. Or maybe I’m doing it because regardless of if there is a god, the _point_ of fasting and praying five times a day is far more simple than gaming some almighty scoreboard where all the devout actions tally up to get me into Paradise when I die.”

He put down his forgotten fork and opened his hands as he went on, “For example – just off the top of my head – what if religion was invented by clever Humans to care for other Humans who rejected science all those centuries ago? What if it’s just a good idea to take regular breaks and get up and down a few times to keep the circulation going? What if halal meat was invented because there’s less chance for infection if the blood is drained away? What if fasting is to encourage self-control, and promote the idea of valuing the resources you have, since you notice them more when they’re absent?

“Chances are the answer is yes to all. But who cares? I don’t think I _do_. I’m serious.

“Yes, I like the idea that there’s a powerful, all-knowing being out there looking after me the way Kukalaka does. I feel cushioned by thinking my mistakes are part of a grander plan, and learning from those mistakes gets me closer to my destiny. Even if I _am_ ‘making it up’, it has value to me. But the rituals and whatnot... they help me... focus on that. Focus on being part of something bigger, historical or transcendental. I’m embracing the nonsense when nothing in reality makes sense anymore. And _that_ makes me feel better.”

His expression had changed by the time he finished speaking. He looked dazed, staring through his food instead of at it.

Garak leaned in. “Doctor?”

Julian glanced up, sparking with a tiny smile when he met Garak’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re quite welcome,” Garak said, before adding, “For what?”

“For helping me figure out why I’m doing this. And making me realise that I want to keep doing it.”

“Ah.” Garak’s eyes twinkled. “For that, dear Julian, you are _most_ welcome.”

  
☪  



	4. Ancestors

Come the hour prior to dawn, for day after day, Garak would arrive in his pyjamas, sleepy and draped in a blanket. He’d eat, recite his intentions, watch Julian pray, then would shoo Julian back to bed for a couple more hours of rest, and take it upon himself to put the plates back in the reclaimer before heading elsewhere. Sometimes Garak stayed up and went to work early; other times he went back to his own quarters to sleep in.

As Julian detailed in his personal logs – or in a muttered aside to Kukalaka in quiet moments – he kept expecting Garak to give up and call it quits after a good four or five days of trying it all out. He got the idea by now, surely.

But when the sixth day came around and Garak showed up again, Julian wondered if the old bastard was cheating, somehow, and snuck a meal in when nobody was looking.

Yet he seemed appropriately lethargic, hungry, thirsty, and eager to eat at the end of the day. He would put away a decent amount of food, too, often taking seconds and even thirds.

They broke their fasts together and shared their iftar meal each evening without fail – and by the end of a week, Julian let suspicion fall away. Maybe Garak the Liar wasn’t lying this time. Nobody could eat Julian’s home cooking and look _that_ pleased with so much consistency unless they really were ravenous.

Perhaps Garak was right. Learning how to have faith could start with having faith in one’s friends.

Each evening stretched out longer and longer. At first Garak had thanked Julian for dinner and headed off, but after each additional meal, their theological discussions grew in complexity, both of them finding more and more to explore after accumulating such a plethora of background familiarity with each other’s opinions.

Garak stayed half an hour after dinner ended.

Then an hour the next day.

Then, eventually, four.

Oh, the talk topics varied, as they had for years, but these warm and cosy interactions were fueled by far more than satiated stomachs and slowly-sipped teas. Free from the distractions of their usual public tables, there came fewer heated debates about corporal punishment and what defined ‘literature’, and more queries into each other’s thought processes regarding morality, more stories about their childhood experiences, and more ponderings of a metaphysical nature.

More intimacy.

More laughter.

But a time always came when one more cup of tea went right through them, and a staggered trip to the bathroom made them both realise how long they’d been sprawled on the sofa with knees touching, how comfy they’d gotten under a shared blanket, and just how _many_ cups of tea they’d actually drunk. Midnight approached, and four o’clock suhoor loomed yet again.

“Well then, doctor, I’d best say goodnight,” Garak would murmur, or something of the like.

“Right. Yeah. Yeah-yeah, it’s late,” Julian agreed. He checked the time. “Wow. _Really_ late.”

A sullen silence followed as Garak got up and stretched, while Julian scratched his head, lingering near the door with a smile pasted across his lips.

“Feels strange, doesn’t it,” Julian uttered.

“What does?”

“To end things like this. Sending you home for just a... a few hours.” Julian smirked and rolled a shoulder, avoiding Garak’s eyes.

Garak put a fond touch against Julian’s arm, taking his gaze and holding it. “I will be back soon enough, doctor. But for now, I ought not encroach so intently on your precious hours of sleep. I hereby bid you a good night.”

Julian swallowed as Garak left. “‘Night.”

  
☪  


“I’m telling you, he’s getting suspicious!” Julian exclaimed. His smile and torso grew more animated as Garak laughed heartily, a hand on his chest. “He was looking at me all _squinty_ today. I don’t know why he hasn’t just asked. Like – ‘Julian, I thought you loved old Scotch. Julian, why won’t you drink synthale anymore? Julian, why do you keep turning down offers for a drink after work? Julian, what’s wrong with all the holosuite games we usually play? I thought you liked battle simulations!’ Poor Miles. He knows something’s different; he’s just staying quiet about it.”

Garak settled down with an extended bout of chuckling. He shook his head, digging his fork underneath his remaining dinner to scoop it up. “It seems to me, doctor, that it’s rather cruel of you to keep such a close friend in the dark. Surely Chief _O’Brien_ can be trusted with such a sensitive topic as your voyage into Islam.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust him,” Julian shrugged, poking around in his own chili con carne and spearing a single bean that almost escaped his bowl. “I’ve kept him updated enough. He knows I have a Muslim background; he knows I drifted from it; he knows I got curious again. I just don’t really want to tell anyone about the fasting.”

“Afraid of judgement?”

“Oh, no.... No, not that. It just... feels private. I don’t know. I’d rather keep it to myself.”

“And yet you began this endeavour with the intention of connecting to others.”

“Others of the same _community_. Like-minded people. Family.”

Garak gave Julian an odd look, slowing his chews. “Do you not consider Chief O’Brien to be family?”

Julian glanced around, then met Garak’s eyes. “Family? Uhm. I— I don’t— Well, I _suppose_. In a manner of speaking.”

“I find—” Garak began. He paused to set down his fork against the edge of his empty bowl, then took his napkin from his collar and patted his lips clean. A red stain from the chili remained, drawing attention to his faint grey smile. He pulled his napkin free and folded it as he went on, “I find myself realising as time goes on, doctor, that one must occasionally bend tradition and dogma to suit the individual.”

“How so?” Julian looked around for a napkin but found none until Garak passed over his own. Julian dragged it over his lips, waiting for an answer.

Garak stayed quiet for a while, hands clasped finger-between-finger against the tabletop, eyes fixed on a distant spot in the everlasting night sky. His eyes shifted, focusing now on his own reflection in the porthole: cheeks, chin, and facial ridges were picked out in warm gold by the lights over the table.

“In Cardassian culture,” Garak said quietly, “much importance is placed on the concept of family. One’s foremost duty is, of course, to the State – but following that, one has a duty to serve one’s family. Blood relations, namely.

“I was decieved for much of my life, doctor. By everyone I saw as family. My own mother only recently admitted her true relation to me, yet still refuses to allow me to address her as ‘mother’. All my life she told me a lie, told me my mother had died and another man was my father. By all accounts, the stand-in was a better father than the one who sired me. Yet the three of them conspired and built me a world where I was made to honour the wrong parents. I was a traitor to Cardassian culture long before it became fashionable.”

Julian smiled because Garak smiled. But Garak’s smile faded first.

“My true father, Enabran Tain...”

Julian’s smile flickered and died, recalling the mortal passing of the warlord in a dark prison he and Garak had been lucky to escape.

Garak gulped. “Tain was a cruel man. One I came to worship and fear, as you know. My father and a _god_ to me he may have been, but family he was not. He rejected me in that aspect. Even as I hoped he would accept me as his son someday, it was clear our devotion was not mutual. I suppose I’m jaded by that, even now.”

Garak kept his eyes averted, unwilling to show stark vulnerability. From his viewpoint by the window base, only Kukalaka could see the tears gleaming in Garak’s waterline.

With a breath, Garak continued, “In essence, I have no family. Not in the traditional sense so valued by Cardassians. My faith has cracked and withered over the years, and now I question how valid any of it is to me.

“How can I follow society’s prescription of glorifying my parents and my ancestors when I know their actions and natures were anything but glorious? They provoked genocide after genocide in the name of resource management. And how can I expect any future children of my own to see _me_ through an appreciative lens when I betrayed my people? _Their_ people?”

“Garak, you were exiled for trying to _stop_ the Cardassians committing Bajoran genocide. Doesn’t that make you a hero?”

Garak gave Julian a pitying look. “Alas, I am made up of a dizzying collection of flaws that may, _only_ through the eyes of a Federation doctor, be seen as strengths. There is no heroism, doctor. I did what I felt I had to do. And I did too much bad beforehand to ever compensate for.

“Yet, I reiterate,” Garak went on, “without reverence for those who came before me, I find myself... godless, for lack of a better term. And therein lies my point. One’s genuine family, the one truly worth serving, is not the one you came from, but the one you go to. The one that welcomes you. The one that _calls_ you family and shuns a society that won’t allow such connections.” Garak gave Julian a heartfelt nod. “Thus, in seeking your company, I adapt the usual custom. We are all different, each of us. We cannot be governed by the same rules and expect it to work for all equally.”

“So,” Julian said, starting to smile, “one must occasionally bend tradition and dogma to suit the individual.”

Garak swept an open hand gently towards Julian, congratulating him on a point well made.

Julian rested his elbows on the table, shoulders high by his ears, a lopsided smile sitting comfortably on his lips. “I still don’t want to tell Miles just yet. Maybe someday. Maybe once Ramadan is over.”

“Why not sooner?”

Julian rolled his eyes and head back with a rough sigh. “He’ll get all _supportive_ and _nice_ , and he’ll start rearranging his entire life to accommodate me, and I don’t _want_ him to do that. Especially because I don’t even know what I need yet.”

“If I recall, you allowed _me_ to rearrange my life.”

“You’re a bit hard to dissuade once you’ve made your mind up, Garak.”

“You didn’t try.”

Julian’s lips rounded on nothing. “Well...”

Garak laughed, head down. “Forgive me, doctor. I did miss our luncheon conversations terribly, and I thought joining you on your quest seemed an ideal opportunity to make up for them. I would gladly go a lifetime without a single meal if it meant our time together continued throughout.”

Julian all but melted into a sigh of appreciative astonishment. To him, such openhearted sentiment was a hard-won treat.

Catching sight of those glossy doe eyes, Garak straightened up, abashed, unable to explain himself.

“I’ll make a note,” Julian said softly. “Don’t stop having dinner with Garak or he’ll start making some very unusual deals with the devil.”

Garak smiled down at the table, straightening his used fork between a finger and thumb.

Julian smiled for a while, then he lowered his eyes too. “Tea?”

“Oh. Yes. Please.”

Julian took the dishes to the reclaimer, and returned with tea. Garak sipped his red leaf brew when it was barely free of simmering. Meanwhile Julian burned his palms on the body of his own mug and left them hovering a centimetre away, fingers linked through the mug handle.

“Garak...?”

“Hm.”

Julian glanced up. “Do you ever want to reconnect with your heritage? I know, there’s that whole thing with ‘your ancestors were genocidal maniacs’, and all – but I mean in theory. Would you seek a spiritual connection to your ancestors if you knew there were a few good ones among the bunch?”

“I might have to give that some thought.”

“Hmm... It’s just,” Julian perked up, eyes rising to the ceiling, “Islam itself has a horribly bloody history. So I suppose I can relate. Muslims have been the aggressors and the victims, started wars with others, had civil wars among themselves, and changed the world. The carnage of the Crusades, and before – ugh, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Things settled for a while. Then at the very start of the twenty-first century, some small sects of people did some truly unthinkable things in the name of Islam, which exemplified _none_ of the values other Muslims upheld. And my ancestors were blamed for it, and persecuted for it, when they had nothing to do with it at all. It’s meant to be a religion of peace. Or at least that’s what it claims to have become.

“But Islam has its problems too, obviously,” Julian babbled, flinging a hand out before Garak could comment. “It’s all based on an ancient text, supposedly received by divine revelation—”

“Isn’t that always the way?”

“—But like the Christian Bible, the thing was pieced together years after the fact, so it’s all itty-bitty. In the nearly two thousand years since, the Qu’ran has remained largely unchanged. But without historical and cultural context, without the scribes’ notes, without punctuation – even in the original Arabic the interpretations vary _wildly_. Whole chunks of the religion are based on hearsay: things people claim Prophet Muhammad said once. The way people follow the rules is _cultural_. And personal. The rules aren’t the religion itself. The way people behave, the things they believe, it all depends on where they were raised, and who by. An observation of Ramadan is one of the few consistent things amongst it all.”

Now in the flow of thought, Julian rushed on, “A lot of my hesitancy over... exploring this whole part of my life again, I guess, was knowing how little solidity there is in Islam. Much of its cultural history is full of deep misogyny. Men were deemed to be the guardians of women, and women were punished for attempts to reclaim control of their own bodies and lives.”

“I see,” Garak said flatly, eyes narrowing.

Julian smiled back. “All I mean is, it’s not a perfect thing. There are parts of it that are downright brutal, and have no place in life today. But you’re right; what you said before about dogma. Change the rules to suit the person. I mean, the whole _idea_ of personal interpretation is against Islam. It’s meant to be a follow-this-to-the-letter sort of religion. To question Allah is to sin. And I thought, no. No, this isn’t for me. I question everything. I doubt everything. I trust nothing.”

Garak’s smile was gleeful.

“But,” Julian said, “then I read up on Judaism. They’re sister religions, the Abrahamic faiths. Linking roots. And a huge part of Judaism _is_ to question, to doubt, and to find a way to make it all work for you.”

“So perhaps Judaism is more for you.”

“But that’s not my _heritage_!” Julian exploded, hands out. “Don’t you see, I want _this_ one: the one I already have. If Allah is as loving and as tolerant and understanding as the texts say, then Allah would also love and tolerate and understand me when I _doubt_ history’s word. Humans are fallible things, Garak. We have been known to be wrong. But Allah can’t _be_ wrong, supposedly! Creation has been made to unfold the way it’s designed to, ugly parts included. I have been created and shaped and evolved _to_ doubt. That is my nature. So I shall. I shall doubt. And question. _And_ be a Muslim. And Allah _will_ understand.”

He seethed for a while. Garak beamed at him.

“Anyway!” Julian scowled. He needed a moment to calm down.

He did, then said, “Look, I’m only suggesting you reinterpret what you were brought up to believe. Your family was fallible. So find what you found perfect about the Cardassian mythos and... focus on that.”

“Indeed,” Garak said, giving Julian a slow look. “The land itself is worthy of song, my dear Julian. But I wonder if there is even any _need_ for worship in my life, now.”

“You can pray for forgiveness?” Julian tried. “You said you can’t redeem yourself for all the bad you did. But in Human religions, there’s always room for that, through making amends and through prayer. You could believe that, couldn’t you?”

Garak sighed.

“No?” Julian tilted his head. “So what _do_ you believe?”

After a ponderous moment, Garak said, “I believe... the dead are at peace. Perhaps that’s part of why I didn’t find it so terrible to kill in the not-too-distant past. But the wrongness of murder was never something I had to be taught, doctor – in fact, I was taught rather the opposite. The wrongness was merely a feeling I developed naturally as my empathy grew along with my guilt. Peace, even the absolute peace of death, cannot be forced upon someone, I decided. They have to choose it. Whether that’s choosing to be murdered—”

“What? Wait-wait, I’m sorry— Like euthanasia? That’s not what you mean, is it? Who _chooses_ to be _murdered_?”

“Quark made a request once. The deal fell through.”

“Oh.”

“Whether someone chooses the peace of death or the peace of belonging, it’s the same peace to me. For a major portion of my life, I chose on other people’s behalf. And in doing so I removed the chance of peace for myself. Guilt is eternal. And I _deserve_ no such peace. In life nor death.”

Julian slowly sank down, miserable. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“As am I.” Garak gave a small smile. “However, I allow myself the occasional... peaceable moment, in exceptional company.”

The silence that followed those words filled with a warm realisation: Julian was his exception.

  
☪  


They talked late into the night, as was their habit now.

They took a break so Julian could pray isha. For a while afterwards they sat together, Garak reading over Julian’s shoulder as he recited more of that day’s section from the Qu’ran, igniting another hour’s debate which cut deeply into the time Julian had set aside for his additional taraweeh prayers.

Inevitably, Garak’s sentences grew short, and his tongue began to stumble, and the occasional yawn broke between his mumbled replies.

“Come on,” Julian said, getting up, slipping a hand into Garak’s and pulling him to his feet. “You need some sleep. I’ll bet anything it’s past one o’clock. How about I let you off tomorrow, and you sleep in? No fasting for you. As a doctor I can _tell_ you sleep is the most important nutrient.”

“Not a nutrient.”

“Shh.” Julian set his hands at Garak’s back and began pushing him away from the table. “To bed with you.”

Garak looked around in surprise when he found himself herded to the sofa and no further.

“I’m getting you a blanket. Sit!” Julian pushed Garak down. “Here, use this as a pillow.” He handed Garak a sofa cushion.

Julian returned from his bedroom carrying his entire duvet in his arms, and draped it over Garak somewhat ceremoniously.

“Okay.” Julian held back a yawn, but it took hold anyway. “Hmmmm. Why’re you staring at me?”

Garak looked up in confusion, tucked in up to his shoulders, still sitting up. “You mean for me to sleep... here?”

“Well, I’m not having you sleep on the floor, am I?”

“No, I—” Garak blinked thrice.

Whatever thoughts crossed his mind went unsaid, and he began to smile, eyelids drooping. He lay down longways on the sofa, cheek on the cushion.

Julian pulled up the blanket a bit more, then patted Garak’s shoulder. “Hope you have a good night.”

“Ohhhh, I already have, my dear.”

Julian had reached to pick up Kukalaka right as Garak spoke. Now he froze, and turned to Garak, skin rushing with chills and heat and tingles.

_My dear._

Not ‘my dear _doctor_ ’ or ‘my dear _Julian_ ’.

...Simply ‘my dear’.

  
☪  



	5. A Community of Few

_Blee-bleep._

Julian stayed on the sofa but his eyes darted towards the door. “Come in?”

The doors hissed open. Major Kira stood outside.

“Major!” Julian leapt to his feet. “Come in! What can I do for you?”

“I thought you asked to see me,” Kira said, closing most of the distance between herself and Julian, and all of the distance between her delicate brows, wrinkling her Bajoran nose ridges in doing so.

“I did?”

“You told Jadzia I might be able to help you with something.”

“I— OH. Oh. Yes. Yes, alright, I did. Um. D— Do you want a drink, or something? I just had a few questions to ask you. Personal, not work-related. Shouldn’t take too long. But then again, it might; I don’t know – talking about this stuff to Garak seems to take hours – you don’t have anywhere to be, do you? Because you never know—”

“Raktajino would be great,” Kira interrupted with a small grin. Her eyes followed Julian as he scrambled towards the replicator.

“Please – take a seat, Major,” Julian said, gesturing to his crumpled sofa.

Kira picked up Kukalaka from the seat and set him neatly on the backrest of the sofa. Kukalaka’s wide-spaced glass eyes were fixed on the ceiling now, but he could still listen.

Julian handed Kira her Klingon coffee, then sat down near her, but further away than he usually sat with Garak. He noticed Kukalaka’s reclined position and picked him up to cuddle.

Kira snorted into her coffee. She lowered her mug and smirked at Julian. “You’re really attached to that thing, huh?”

“Thing...? _Oh_ , you mean Kuuks. He gets me through the day,” Julian smiled. “Look, um...” Trepidation chilled him, but he gulped and ventured on: “I wanted to ask about... religion.”

“Okay?” Kira didn’t seem surprised.

Julian gulped again. “I don’t know if you know, but recently I’ve been... exploring the idea of faith, what it means to me.”

“Yeah... Yeah, Miles mentioned something.”

Julian nodded. “So far I think it might be working for me. It didn’t at first. But I’ve really started enjoying it. Partly, I think—” he tilted his head quickly, a grin flashing up, “that might be because _Garak_ ’s been spending so much time here. We’ve been talking it all through and – and it helps me engage more, you know? The only thing is, he’s not spiritual himself. And I thought I ought to talk to someone who is.”

“Mm-hm.” Kira sipped her coffee and listened, her focus gentle and open.

“It’s been about – ah – three weeks since I started practising. A lot of it I already knew; I’ve done this all before as a child. I’m just trying it out again. Obviously it’s _very_ early days. Except the thing is, this month is special. There’s a sort of mission objective, a goal to meet. In a week it’s over.

“And I’ve realised... the goal and the ritual of it all is what _links_ me to the spiritual aspect. I’m the sort who’s inclined to bend the rules a little to suit the moment, if you know what I mean. I’m already ignoring some of the major guidelines just to feel okay about _trying_ this. So if I’m living my normal life after Ramadan ends, what’s stopping me allowing one little forbidden thing here or there? Eventually it all falls away. I’ll be back to sleeping around and getting drunk and who knows what else.”

Kira nodded as Julian spoke, and she lowered her mug when she heard those last words.

Julian took a breath. “So,” he said, “what I’m wondering is... how do you— How can _I_ keep faith even without anything to focus me? How the hell do I make genuine devotion a part of everyday life but not allow it to become meaningless _habit_?”

Kira wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, starting to smile. “Honestly, I think you figured it out already. Community connection really helps dedication.”

“But I’m the only Muslim _on_ this station. In this _sector_ , even.”

“But you asked to see me. We don’t practise the same faith, and we’re not even the same species, but we have an intention in common. It makes sense to talk to each other about it. Even Garak. You know? Talking amicably about faith with the faithless is still an act of faith.”

Julian gnawed his lower lip, humming a dull note.

“Habit is okay, too,” Kira said, putting her mug down on the backrest of the sofa. “Habit is good, even, because it makes sure you don’t forget your practise entirely. If you’re worried about it becoming boring routine...? Change things. Find a different place to pray, if you even need a place. And if you don’t: make one and decorate it in a way so you’d be happy to linger. Once a week I like filling my quarters with candles when I pray to the Prophets – it’s really not required, but it helps me feel like what I’m doing is special.”

“But wouldn’t you find yourself lighting candles and kneeling to pray and doing all these elaborate things, but it’s... empty? Pointless trappings. And you’re just saying the words, but they don’t mean anything anymore because you’ve said them so many times.”

Kira looked at him blankly, then wrung out a grin. She leaned in to put her hand on his hand, squeezing it over Kukalaka’s fuzzy belly. “The fact you’re asking about that means you’ll make an effort to prevent it. Unless your faith is already feeling flat, I don’t think you need to worry about this now. Maybe in a few months or years.”

“But I get bored so easily.” Julian frowned down at his bear, plucking at one of Kukalaka’s fuzzy ears. “What if this is just another obsession of mine? What if I’m diving into it now, but some other special interest will come along later and I’ll stop caring?”

“So? _Throw_ yourself into it,” Kira said brightly. “Enjoy it while you’re open to enjoying it. If you start to struggle later, that’s when the real test starts. And then, like you wanted, you’ll get a mission and a goal: to get back on track.”

“But what if I don’t?”

Kira shrugged. She had a gleam in her eyes, a lingering smile. “Sometimes faith is hard, Julian. Same as anything else in our lives. The truth is I can’t tell you _how_ to keep your faith, but I can encourage you to try. Because what works for me might not work for you. And figuring out what works for you _is_ the journey. Overcoming a barrier _is_ the proof of faith.

“Besides, doctor, if you have so much you’re willing to change or give up in order to dedicate yourself... I feel like that makes your intentions just as valid and maybe even more heartfelt than someone’s who’d never tried those things at all. You’d _know_ what you’re missing. Sex. Alcohol. Whatever else you’ve set aside. You know the value of refusing those things when offered.”

Kira glanced away, a distant realisation sparking in her eyes. “Maybe what makes an action meaningful is choosing to do it while _conscious_ of what else you could be doing instead.”

She turned back to Julian, her smile widening. Her fingertips toyed with her mug, but she let it go and lay both hands on her crooked thigh, knee towards Julian. “I think,” she said, when Julian didn’t say anything, “you should tell Miles what you’re doing. He’s been worried about you.”

Julian hummed a dark note and turned his head to press his forehead to his palm.

With a tone of perplexion, Kira said, “You _have_ understanding friends, Julian. You _have_ a community. You aren’t as alone as you think. Help us understand what you’re doing and _ask_ us to become a part of it. Your best friends will ask how they can offer support without being told to, or even find ways of helping you that you never would’ve thought of. And I’m sure then you’ll find what you need.”

Julian’s heart grew warm, thinking about how Garak had done all of that. And Garak had said it, too: Julian had a family here. They were all connected by chance and by choice, and their love was interwoven a dozen different ways.

Hearing such a statement twice from two people Julian cared about made it seem more true.

He continued smiling helplessly when he flicked his gaze up to Kira’s. “Thank you,” he said. “I think that’s what I needed to hear. This... helped.”

Kira gave him a warm look, then she leaned across and took his hand again, squishing Kukalaka’s leg as she did. “If you ever need to talk about this again, I’m around.”

She said nothing else. She got up, tossed back a little more coffee, and left by way of the reclaimer.

Julian turned to look at the doors as they closed.

He _did_ have a community. Kira was right. Garak was right. His home was full of friends – family – while his mosque was empty, even of strangers. But that was the beauty of it, perhaps. Two Muslims side-by-side could practise their faith as differently as a Bajoran and a Cardassian would. Julian’s experience was as unique as everyone else’s.

The people he knew and loved could all be different together.

  
☪  



	6. Platters and Pillars

“Garak!” Julian was delighted to see his friend appear in his doorway. “Sorry it took so long to let you in, it was maghrib time. I didn’t realise you’d be coming so I broke my fast without you— My God, what _is_ that smell?”

“Smells good, I hope?”

“Maddeningly delicious.” Julian trailed after the cloche Garak carried, following him to the table and watching him slide the covered golden platter to the middle. “What’ve you brought?”

“Oh, just an old Cardassian dish,” Garak said. “A favourite of mine. I hope you don’t mind – I suspected that you wouldn’t care to cook if you weren’t entertaining me as a guest.”

Julian shrugged. “Was about to replicate some grilled sandwiches or something. Hadn’t decided yet.”

“Well, in that case!” Garak pulled out a dining chair for Julian, and Julian sat, grinning. “Allow me to treat you, my dear doctor, to a feast.” He pulled up the cloche’s lid and a billowing cloud of steam expanded and disappeared into the air.

A huge dinner for two was revealed, laid out artistically on the platter. A dozen five-centimetre-wide brown lumps blistered with what looked like blackened fry-batter, the pyramid dusted with red powder. Vegetable snakes of purple and green slept woven in a halo around a mountain of neon yellow balls, which were set inside a clear jelly mould. To one side sat a small grid of square dishes, each containing a sauce of bright purple or red or green, next to a log-pile of narrow meaty sticks flecked with nuts, presumably to use for dipping.

“Why is it so fancy?” Julian asked.

“Such a presentation is often reserved for children’s year-day celebrations and the silliest of parties,” Garak explained, sitting opposite Julian and tucking in the napkin he’d apparently had on hand. “But I’ve enjoyed it since I was small, and thought you might like to taste it.”

“Do I use a fork?” Julian asked, picking up the fork he’d already laid out on an empty plate.

“A fork will be fine for these – here.” Garak served Julian two of the blackened, bubble-skinned lumps, lifting one at a time with his fork prongs against one side and his fingertips against the other. “These are called Father’s Gardens. They’re an edible fungi, fermented in flavourings and colours, dried out, rehydrated in a mass and then flattened, rolled up, cut, and battered, then wet-roasted in black kanar until the alcohol burns off.”

“Complicated.”

“A widely-palatable and highly nutritious delicacy. For the diskran jelly,” Garak gestured to the yellow thing, “you’d struggle to use anything other than a spoon. It’s often viewed as dessert, in any case. For the zabu dippers one is permitted to use fingers. I found that was a large part of the draw as a child. And even now.”

Julian grinned. He cut a sliver off his first Father’s Garden with the edge of his fork, and gave a cry of delight as he found the inside to contain a spiral of dark red and bright blue. “Amazing.” He took the cut piece on his fork, sniffed it... “Hm. Smells like spicy tofu. Cayenne...?”

“It smells like a Father’s Garden, doctor.”

“Hm.” Julian ate. “Hm!” He nodded. “‘S good. You checked none of this is poisonous to Humans, didn’t you?”

“You’ve eaten all the ingredients before, doctor.”

Julian hummed as he chewed. “Did you replicate this?”

Garak smiled as he caught Julian’s eyes. “I had a number of resources on hand. The rest of the ingredients, yes, I replicated.”

Julian’s eyes widened. “You made this from _scratch_?!”

Garak began to cut into his own food, carelessly remarking, “I only thought it fair I return the favour, after you’ve so generously fed me this past week.”

“Garak, this must’ve taken hours!”

“It was a slow day for a tailor.”

“You closed your shop? You closed your shop to cook for me?!”

“Eat, doctor,” Garak chided. “It’s best enjoyed hot.”

Julian exhaled in astonishment, shoulders bowing. “Garak... Oh, I really don’t deserve you.”

Garak met his eyes in surprise. “I think you’ll find it is I who don’t deserve _you_.”

Julian snorted. “Alright, you old sweetheart. We’ll kiss about it later.”

Garak laughed in shock, but he quickly dug into his meal and didn’t make eye contact for a while. Julian grinned when he noticed the faint lilac flush in Garak’s cheeks and ears.

“It’s good,” Julian said again, nodding as he munched and swallowed the last of his second Garden. “Really good. And this...?”

“Ah!” Garak lit up as he saw Julian waving a zabu dipper at one of the sauces. “Try a few, doctor, see which best suits your taste buds.”

Julian sampled a number of the dips, and found, firstly, that he didn’t like whatever kind of crackled nut was attached to the zabu dipper sticks, so he began brushing them off onto his plate, and secondly, the meat tasted like salted beef jerky but with the texture of a burnt sausage. And the sauces... Hmmm.

“This red one’s like _beets_.” Julian took that dish, removed it from the others, and glared at it with disgust. “I’m not trying it again. You have that one.”

Garak hum-hum-hummed a laugh, scooping up copious amounts of that one with his own dipper.

“This one...” Julian again tried the sauce that looked like green hummus. “Spinachy?”

“Ah. That one is actually spinachy, yes,” Garak admitted. “For some unknown reason, the imbeciles who programmed the replicators on this station never thought to include pumfer leaves. In Terran terms, pumfer leaves are the equivalent of... celery.”

“No-one likes celery.”

“I like celery,” Garak said.

“Humans don’t usually eat the leaves, Garak.”

“The leaves are the best part. But for your comfort, doctor, I substituted spinach.”

Julian cackled and dipped into the purple sauce. “Now _this_. I don’t know _what_ this tastes like.”

“That’s because it tastes like nothing you’ve ever had before,” Garak purred. “And isn’t that the marvel of new food?”

“Sort of... vinegary... but like old wood... but saccharine... Ooh, a nice dirty aftertaste. That’s definitely like— Aaah. So there was this— Back on Earth, when I was about... four? – there was this place in the market where we’d get iced tea. And I only liked the cola ones with the bubbles. But you’d get down the bottom and the froth had worn off, and there’s this sludge down there. It’s not really food, it’s just syrup. But I’d take a spoon and lick that up. And these were biodegradable spoons – we didn’t have too many replicators in that province. The combination of a bitter brown-rice spoon and a vanilla-cinnamon cola syrup... Mm.” Julian took another scoop. “S’home-how it tashes goob wiff meat.”

“It... tastes good with meat?”

Julian nodded and swallowed. He reached for another dipper, brushed off the nuts, and ate more.

“I talked to Kira today,” he said.

“Oh?” Garak inquired, taking another Father’s Garden and dumping all the beet-flavoured sauce over the top of it.

“I’ve decided I’m going to carry on with this whole Islam thing once Ramadan’s over. See how long I can stick to it. I think I’m ready – my life’s needed a positive overhaul. Kira just assured me that... yeah, some parts would be hard. It takes dedication, doesn’t it? I’m fine with that.”

“You don’t mean to fast every day—?”

“Oh! No. Not until next year’s Ramadan. In the meantime I’d be doing my best to fulfil those essential five pillars of Islam: the five things Muslims are all supposed to do. The first being the ‘shahada’, the proclamation that there is no god but Allah, and Prophet Muhammad is his messenger; you believe in the holy Qu’ran and the angels. The second—”

“Wait! Don’t tell me.” Garak tried, “Salat... The five prayers?”

Julian nodded eagerly. “And the third?”

“Donating to charity.”

“Zakat, mm-hm.” Julian bit his lip as he grinned. “Which, by the way, I’d say _you_ should probably do. If you skip or miss a Ramadan fast like you did today, or break it by accident, you’re either supposed to repeat the fast some other day or donate money to feed someone hungry.”

Garak chuckled. “Or spend seven hours cooking to feed the _very_ hungry.”

“That... is true.” Julian smiled. “There’s blessings in that, you know. Feeding people who’ve been fasting. Maybe your Cardassian ancestors don’t think much of you, but right about now, Allah probably thinks you’re pretty neat.”

Garak laughed, head down.

“ _I_ think you’re neat,” Julian added, sweetly.

Garak glanced at him and held his eyes. “How kind of you to say.”

Julian’s gaze dropped low to Kukalaka, suddenly embarrassed. He gave Kukakaka a ‘whaaaat? he _cooked_ for me’ sort of look.

“Ahhhm.” Julian cleared his throat, then fumbled for a spoon and began poking at the lemon-yellow diskran jelly, watching it ripple at each touch. “Anyway. Shahada: belief. Salat: prayer. Zakat: charity. Then there’s the fasting, which is called ‘sawm’. And the last pillar is ‘hajj’.”

“The holy pilgrimage,” Garak remembered. He took Julian’s spoon off him and used it to cut out a blobby, wobbly section of the jelly. He put it on Julian’s plate over smeared sauces, the discarded nuts, and oily black flakes from the Father’s Gardens. “I’d imagine a trip to Mecca would be a hard thing to do, all the way out here in the depths of space.”

Julian took back his spoon and started to chop the jelly to try and get some of those yellow balls on the shovel, while avoiding residue from other food. “Hajj is really a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I already went to the Ka’bah in Mecca with my parents when I was little. Oh, I hated it. I mean, I don’t remember a thing, but they told me I screamed the entire time. I believe it, I really do. Those crowds? That much noise and movement and so many places to get lost or trampled? God, no. It’s not the same at all, but frankly I might just spend six days in the holosuite and do hajj there, where I can pause and start again when I’m ready. It’s mostly a lot of walking. But that mosque in Mecca, the Ka’bah, that’s where Muslims face when we pray. All I can do out here is point my prayer mat towards Earth.”

“You have the _gall_ to call it a prayer mat,” Garak uttered.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s a folded bedsheet, doctor. Hardly a tool for holy worship.”

“Hey, if your faith is strong, you don’t need any tools at all,” Julian argued. “It’s just to keep my hands and face off the carpet.”

“And?” Garak leaned in, eyes teasing. “Is your faith strong?”

Julian gave him a flat look. “This jelly tastes like raw, muddy potato peels dipped in fermented orange juice.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not to offend your cooking, or anything, but I think I hate it.”

Garak did look a little disappointed, but he nodded. “Such is the risk. I’ll have it. Pardon me.” He reached over the table and took Julian’s plate, replacing it with his own. He began to eat Julian’s leftovers happily.

“Garak, if I really do this...” Julian uttered, cheek on a hand, eyes set dazedly out the window. “No more alcohol is one thing. But no blissfully degenerate holosuite games? No premarital sex...? Hmm.”

Garak glanced up, one cheek full. “Celibacy is easy, once you _surrender_ to the fact you’ll never feel the heat or comfort of another person’s touch again.”

Julian met his eyes, shocked but not surprised he’d say something so depressing so easily. Julian sighed at him. “But at least you _can_ again. You’d meet someone else...” He squirmed and hid his burning forehead behind a hand. “Look, even if you don’t get to have _sex_ , you could still... cuddle someone. Kiss them. I’m not sure I’m even allowed to do _that_.”

Garak did seem a bit morose when Julian looked back at him. 

“If I had someone,” Garak said softly, “who I _could_... hold... and kiss?” He smiled. “I would. Certainly.”

“But you don’t.”

“It seems that way.”

“So you can’t.”

“Unfortunately. Hence my surrender.”

Julian forced a smile, but it came out sad. “Pity.”

“Quite.”

  
☪  



	7. Hungry Hungry Hippos

_Blee-bleep._

“Busy around here, isn’t it?” Julian uttered to Kukalaka, wriggling back into his grey-shouldered Starfleet jumpsuit. He’d been about to change after work, but people ringing his bell at this hour often meant more work had presented itself.

Julian got to the doors and opened them with a smack on the sensor. “Miles! Hi.”

Miles O’Brien looked about as determined as a man could look. More, even, because sometimes the Irish in him really came out, and this was one of those times. “Look,” he said, “either you join me for darts and a drink at the bar, or I’m coming in.”

Julian stepped back and opened an arm, inviting Miles inside.

Miles stomped past and turned around to watch Julian intently as the doors closed. Julian noted he’d brought a canvas bag with him, which seemed to contain something square and bulky, about the length of Miles’ forearm.

“Julian,” Miles said, “do you remember how many holosuite games we played together last month?”

“I do. It was six. Mostly _Julian Bashir: Secret Agent_ ; several rounds of the Alamo battle; the Viking one; the attack simulation where you were Captain; the pet program on Mouse Island for Chester; and DeadBall Death racquetball on the Moon.”

“Six _games_. Fifty-seven hours logged between them.” Miles’ face darkened. “Care to chance a guess how many hours we’ve logged _this_ month?”

Julian folded his arms low, looking away.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Miles dumped the bag on the sofa, and the box inside rattled like it was full of a dozen small plastic things and something that went _clack_.

“Julian,” Miles started. Although about to use his pleading tone, he switched to his demanding tone to say, “What’s wrong with the holosuite? Why are you avoiding it? Is it me?”

“For God’s sake, Miles, I’ve told you a hundred times: it’s nothing to do with you.”

“Then what is it?! I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

“They’re violent, okay? All of them. All our games. Even your cat’s game was gory. I know they’re our go-to activity for relaxation, but they are a _little_ unnecessary, aren’t they? If you want to spend time with me, I _have_ suggested we try a board game. Something that doesn’t involve... war.”

Miles grunted. “Fine. Since you bring it up—” He gestured to the bag he’d brought. He tipped it upside-down and out came a colourful cardboard box full of rattly plastic.

Julian tilted his head to read the label. “Hungry Hungry... Hippos?”

“Was a gift from Keiko’s mother back on Earth. Molly let me borrow it.”

Julian laughed a little, hanging an arm from his fingers hooked behind his neck. “You want to play _that_ with me?”

“You ever played it?”

Julian shook his head.

Miles took the box to the dining table and started pulling the game out. A chunky blue circle came out first, and some yellow marbles ran around its lipped edge, hitting some peculiar plastic creatures stationed like gargoyles at four points around the circle.

Julian reached into the circle and picked up a ball just as Miles tipped in a half-dozen more that had been left behind inside the box.

Miles demonstrated the game’s mechanism with a single finger: he set the tip of it onto a lever behind one of the creatures – a hippo, presumably, despite being bright green. Pressing the lever made the hippo open its mouth. He made it snap twice, and it appeared to eat a yellow marble. The ball disappeared into the hippo then rolled into a collection bay to the side of it.

“Let me guess,” Julian said, climbing onto a chair seat and perching there with one heel against his crotch. “Whoever eats the most marbles wins.”

“You take the orange and the pink hippos, I’ll take the green and yellow.” Miles sat opposite, waiting until Julian had positioned Kukalaka so the bear had a perfect view, then they each set their fingers on the two hippos closest to them.

“Hang on,” Julian said. He returned the demonstration marble back to the blue circle, which he now realised was meant to be a pond. “Alright.”

“Ready?” Miles jostled his shoulders inside his leather-shouldered wool jumper, preparing.

“Ready.” Julian felt a trip of exhilaration. It wasn’t so different to the moments before a holosuite battle began.

“Aaaaaaaaaaand.... GO.”

Julian began throttling his hippos’ levers and creating a big clacketty racket. After two bites he learned that if he pressed both levers in sync, the marbles he missed only ricocheted towards Miles, and _he_ snapped them up – so he adjusted to snap one hippo jaw at a time. He did well for a while, stacking up marbles in his twin collection bays – only to snap one more time at the last rolling marble and realise Miles had cleared the pond already.

“Well, _that_ didn’t last long,” Julian remarked, calculating that they’d played for about ten seconds.

Miles counted his marbles, but Julian could tell at a glance who had won. Miles had maxed out both his bays but Julian had only filled up one.

“These hippos sure are _hungry_ , huh,” Miles said with an odd tone. “Ya know... playing this kinda made me peckish. I’m gonna go replicate a snack. Some P-B-’n-J sammies maybe. You, uh... you want anything, Julian? Coffee? Sandwich?”

Julian glanced up from the marbles he’d returned to the pond. “Oh. No. Thank you. I’m, ummm... I’m... fasting.”

Miles froze halfway up out of his seat. He sat down again. His eyes rounded in realisation. Then he bowed his head and uttered, “Oh, thank _ffffff_.” He leaned all the way forward, head sagging to plop into a waiting hand. “I thought you’d developed some kind of eating disorder – I came here with the hippo game as a segue for a freaking _intervention_.”

Julian stared, dumbfounded. “I... you... Wh...”

Then Julian burst out laughing.

Miles snorted. But then he started to chuckle, and chortle, and then full-on _guffawed_ , hands clutching his reddening face while Julian nearly toppled back on his chair, writhing in his seat and curling his toes.

“Miles! Miles, oh— Oh, Miles.” Julian sniffed and let out a few careful breaths, eyes still watering. “Oh, God, Miles, I’m sorry.”

“Why the hell didn’t you _tell_ me, you ninny? I know plenty about Islam, but it’s not like I keep tabs on what the goddamn _moon_ is doing back on Earth. Could’a at least _mentioned_ it was Ramadan.”

“I know. I know; I’m sorry. I wanted to keep it to myself, that’s all.”

“You tell me every other damn personal fact ‘n figure about you, Julian. I know maybe fifty things nobody else knows, which frankly I wish I didn’t know either. What the hell’s your deal, huh? I get you skipping out on drinks at the bar and whatnot, maybe even wanting to change up the holosuite menu, but seriously, all you had to do was _ask_.”

“That’s just it, Miles,” Julian said affectionately. “You’d move mountains to accomodate me, and I didn’t want you giving up all the games you love. I _know_ you’d stop drinking in solidarity. If you’re anything like Garak – and you’ll hate me saying it, but you are – you’d also skip lunch and forgo coffee in my honour, and as a doctor I really can’t recommend you doing that. You have too much physical and mental work on your plate to go without water, let alone food. The entire station would be on fire by the end of your first fast.”

Miles looked crestfallen, but he gave a small smile of self-recognition as Julian had correctly predicted his reactions. “Look, you mad idiot,” Miles said with love, “screw the games. I’m not gonna have fun without you.”

“I really don’t mind, Miles. Play all you like. We can try some new programs once Ramadan’s over.”

“No, I mean – without you, it’s not _fun_.”

Julian whispered, “Oh.” He hugged his elbows and lowered his eyes. “Oh, I see.”

Miles began to look worried. “What about all the times I ate and drank right in front of you? You could’ve left. You could’ve at least asked me to pick somethin’ less delicious-smelling.”

Julian gave his friend a lopsided smile. “It’s okay. Resisting overwhelming temptation is all part of the experience. But, yes, maybe, ummm... less nice smells. Would be appreciated.”

“What’s the name of your— Oh. Eid. Eid ul-Adha?”

“Eid ul-Fitr’s at the end of Ramadan. Eid ul-Adha’s the one after hajj.”

“ _This_ Eid’s gotta be coming up, right?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“Jeez. That soon? Okay. Warning you now, it’s gonna be a crappy last-minute gift.”

“Gift— Miles, no, you don’t have to—”

“Would you shut up?” Miles gave Julian an exasperated look. “Dammit, Julian, stop fighting me and let me love you already.”

Julian couldn’t help but giggle, hiding his eyes under a hand. “Ohhh, alright. Just nothing too over-the-top, please.”

“I’ve got less than two days and a replicator the size of a dinner plate. Trust me, it’s not going to be over-the-top.”

Julian chuckled, giving Miles a fond look.

Miles took a breath. “What, uh... what time do you break your fast tonight?”

“Twenty-hundred.”

“Aw, nice. So you can eat with Keiko and Molly and me.”

Julian’s mouth opened. “Really?”

“What? Of course. God, the lack of food is completely messing with your brain, isn’t it. You usually nibble constantly like a hummingbird. What’s squelching around in your skull these days? I'danian spice pudding?”

“Mm, pretty much,” Julian smiled. “And not even _good_ I'danian spice pudding.”

Miles tutted. “So. Dinner, our place?”

“Okay.” Julian nodded. “Yeah, I’d... I’d really love that. I just have to rearrange plans with someone first.”

“Wait, you already had dinner plans?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine with it.” Julian tapped his combadge. “Bashir to Garak.”

Miles’ eyebrows shot up.

“ _Garak here. A little_ early _to be calling me, doctor, isn’t it? By my clock there’s still another half-hour until our rendezvous. You don’t usually get worried I’ll miss our little banquet until a minute before the adhan call._ ”

Julian gave Miles a sheepish look, brown skin flushing redder. “I actually need to mmmaybe cancel you coming over tonight? It’s just that Miles invited me to eat with his family. I finally told him I was fasting, and he really _insisted_.”

“ _Understandable, understandable. Too bad I— Is he listening?_ ”

“Yes. He’s right in front of me.”

“ _Ah._ ” Garak went quiet for a moment. “ _Um._ ”

“It’s not too much of a bother, is it?” Julian worried. “You’ve never broken a fast alone. A bit of a wasted day, then, if I’m not even there to appreciate your sacrifice.”

Miles huffed. “He’s seriously fasting too?”

Garak’s voice came in, indignant, “ _Yes, Chief, I am ‘seriously’ fasting too._ ”

Julian groaned. “I’m so sorryyy, Garaaak...”

“Hey-hey-hey,” Miles said hurriedly, frowning at Julian’s upset. “Look, it’s not a big deal! You can eat with us too, Garak. Keiko keeps tellin’ me how much she loves your company. You two can talk about... gardening, or whatever. There’s enough chairs for you and Julian.”

Garak gave a jumpy chuckle. “ _As generous as that is, Mr. O’Brien, I must wholeheartedly decline. You once promised me you’d never invite me over, and I’d rather you remain an honest man. Dear Julian does need at least one in his life._ ”

Julian rolled his eyes in a ‘that’s true’ sort of way.

“ _Go ahead, doctor,_ ” Garak said, his voice brimming with affection, as well as some sadness. “ _Enjoy your family meal._ ”

Julian bit his lip, a twitch of a smile taking hold. “How about I cook you your favourite dinner tomorrow night?”

“ _Ah! That exquisitely cheesy aubergine, spinach, and pumpkin-seed lasagne you claim to have invented?_ ”

Julian huffed. “What? I thought you loved the grilled baby-potato-salad sandwiches with the, um, um... little green—”

“ _Chives?_ ”

“Chives! That’s it.”

“ _Hm. Now I’m divided._ ”

Julian threw his head back laughing, rolling his cheek to one shoulder as he swung forward again. “I’ll make you both, how’s that?”

“ _You do spoil me, Julian._ ”

“Mm. I don’t mind spoiling you.” Julian pursed his lips to hide his giant smile from Miles. “Um. I sh-should, um. Probably go.”

“ _Of course. Yes. I have a little more sewing to do before iftar._ ”

“Do you still have leftovers in stasis?”

“ _I shan’t go hungry, doctor. Now begone with you!_ ”

“Bye, Garak. See you tomorrow morning.”

“ _Without a doubt, my dear. Garak out._ ”

Julian still beamed when the commline went quiet, and couldn’t even wipe the smile away with a palm.

“You told _him_ you were fasting?” Miles said, his tone halfway between baffled and dismayed. “How long’s he been fasting with you?”

“Two weeks, almost.”

“Ugh!”

“What can I say, he barged in here and held an intervention _long_ before you did. He always says patience has its rewards, but for once impatience paid off, I guess.”

Miles gazed at Julian blankly. “I think... you ‘n me need to work on how you communicate with your friends.”

“Yeah, I’m sort of coming to that conclusion myself.”

“Pff.”

Julian smiled at the hippos, who hung out as a foursome, all staring at their plastic meal. What an odd little game.

“Well,” Julian said, slapping his hands to his knees and getting up. “I’m getting changed. And then we’ll... head off? I’d love to play Hippos against Molly.”

Miles gave Julian an up-nod, while still looking baffled.

Julian headed for the dresser at the side of the living room to find clean clothes. He dug around, but Kukalaka couldn’t see what he picked before he disappeared into the darkness of his bedroom to dress.

Miles got up from the table, looking down at the Hungry Hungry Hippos game and planting his hands on his hips. He tutted, then began scooting the game back into its box.

“Julian?” he called, a bit loud for Kukalaka’s sensitive little ears.

“ _Yeah?_ ” came the distant, muffled reply.

“So... you’ve been eating breakfast with him? And... dinner?”

“ _Who, Garak? Yeah._ ”

“Here, in your quarters.”

“ _Yah. Oof._ ” (Julian thumped his elbow on the wall.) “ _Why? Owww. Hit my stupid ulnar nerve. Grr._ ”

Miles seemed bothered for a split-second, fingers stroking his forehead as he frowned, but then he shook his head. “How’s it been? Eating with him.”

“Oh, you know,” Julian said as he emerged from his room, dressed in that lovely hot-pink shirt Garak had gifted him for his birthday, paired with baggy patterned trousers in bright teal and orange. “He’s been...” A tender, distracted look crossed Julian’s long face, which both Miles and Kukalaka would’ve had to be blind to miss. “He’s been _so_ sweet. Supportive.” A shivery breath escaped Julian, and he lowered his chin to his sternum, smiling. “Really, really lovely.” He rolled a shoulder and looked at Miles, all soppy-eyed. “We’ve been looking for each other.”

“Looking—”

“Cooking! Cooking.” Julian blushed a hot red. “Um. Cooking. I definitely said cooking. Came out wrong.” He turned away to hide his blush, pretending to hunt for something on the sofa, tossing up cushions and replacing them.

He then spotted Kukalaka and realised he could pretend to have been looking for _him_ , so he hurried over and pretended to find him. Kukalaka felt the heat that still burned in Julian from that awkward slip of the tongue.

“I have a question,” Miles said.

Julian kept his back to his friend, eyes falling shut. Oh God, oh God, here it came. Miles was going to ask about his feelings for Garak, and Julian was _not_ ready to divulge the sordid details just yet.

“Hm?” Julian hummed, trying to sound nonchalant while his body flamed and he begged Allah for a well-timed emergency to save him.

“If you’re fasting,” Miles said, “how do you taste-test the food you’re cooking?”

Breath burst from Julian and he turned around, chilled by relief. “Oh. I just kind of lick the spoon and spit it back out. It doesn’t break your fast if you don’t swallow.”

“Huh.” Miles picked up the canvas bag containing the game. “Makes sense.”

Julian hesitated but moved a couple steps towards the doors, still carrying Kukalaka. “You know,” he said lightly, shimmering with continued relief, “I thought you were going to ask _why_ Garak and I have been having breakfast together every morning and dinner together every night.”

“What’s to ask about, exactly? He’s fasting too. Misery loves company.”

Excitement flashed through Julian, all his dread overwhelmed by the urge to shock Miles. “He sleeps here sometimes. He slept here last night.”

“Hmh.” Miles pressed his lips together. “Figures. Inevitable, right? You and him. Having, uh... dinner. Then breakfast. With a night in between. ‘Sleeping’.” He turned towards the doors and let himself out. “C’mon, let’s go. Bring your bear if you really want – Molly would adore that.”

Julian stood unmoving and unthinking for a number of moments, shocked and thrilled and trying not to show it. He’d purposefully left out the part where Garak slept on the sofa, just to see how Miles might react to the implication that they shared a bed. And Miles thought it was _inevitable_?

Julian Bashir and Elim Garak... sleeping together...

Julian’s tummy had gone all fluttery.

Probably just hungry.

But that was only half the reason, and he knew it.

Julian grinned. He hugged Kukalaka to his side and went to dinner with Miles.

  
☪  



	8. Last Fast

“I can’t believe this would be our last fast,” Julian uttered, knuckling sleep out of his eyes. “This month went by so quickly.”

Garak grunted, shuffling towards the table for their suhoor meal, his face half-buried behind his fluffed-up blanket. “Two weeks,” he said, “has been quite long enough for me. I dread to imagine how much more _weight_ I would gain should I continue.” He draped his blanket over the chair and looked down at his stocky middle, patting it twice with a grey hand. “This has all been hugely contrary to expectations, I assure you.”

Julian frowned. “Garak... Oh, no... _Tell_ me you weren’t fasting just to lose weight.”

Garak looked up, his expression inscrutable.

Julian told him, “Garak, if your body thinks there’s less food it will _store_ fat to survive. And when you’re hungry you overeat. Skipping meals is among the worst ways to lose weight – I wouldn’t ever recommend it, medically.” He sighed in pity. “Oh, Garak.”

Admonished, Garak admitted, “There was a vague hope in my mind. But, no: have no doubt, doctor – I did this for you. And I’ll continue. Only today left, in any case.” He sat. “Remarkably, after the first few fasts, I’ve found I don’t get hungry in the day like before. Almost as if my stomach knows there is no chance of a meal so doesn’t bother to complain.”

Julian smiled, sitting himself down opposite Garak.

After some weeks of trial and error, Julian had pared down his suhoor meal to a simple selection: three scrambled eggs and thickly-buttered toast with baked beans, baked cherry tomatoes, and sautéed mushrooms. And tea, of course.

Garak enjoyed a little more nourishment in the way of Cardassian soups, and a potato-like root vegetable stuffed with fillings that varied by the day, but always contained a good amount of protein, fat, and slow-burning carbohydrates, as was recommended for a long day. He particularly enjoyed cheddar cheese.

As their last suhoor neared its conclusion, Garak ventured to ask, “What manner of gift would you like for Eid?”

Julian gulped down a mouthful of extra-sweet Tarkalean tea. “You don’t have to get me anything else, Garak. The clothes I ordered are enough.”

“But you purchased those. Surely you’d like a gift just from me.”

Julian smiled and shook his head. “You sticking with me throughout this has been gift enough, I promise. What about you? I did already get you something, but is there anything you really _want_?”

Garak blinked a few times. “But I’m not a Muslim. Eid is not my celebration.”

“So what? You participated. We’re celebrating the end of fasting and the community-building that came along with it. And for me, giving is as important as receiving, and often just as pleasurable.”

Garak gave a wry smile. “Doctor, if only you’d said such a thing when my mind was less full of night-time blurs, I’d have made a _very_ inappropriate remark.”

Julian laughed into his tea, and had to paw at his entire face with a napkin to wipe it dry. “Ga- _rak_ ,” he complained, smiling.

“No, my dear,” Garak said with soft seriousness, “I can’t think of anything.” A curious tone coated his words as he said, “Do you know, nobody’s ever really _asked_ me what I want...” He swallowed, shifted a ridged shoulder in an unsure shrug. “At the present moment, however, I am in want of nothing. Nothing you can give me, anyway.”

Before Julian could ask what it was he couldn’t give – likely a return ticket to Cardassia, a total rewrite of Cardassian history, a proper haircut – Garak spoke again.

“It’s such a shame this will all be over soon,” Garak said, eyes down. “I’ve genuinely enjoyed spending so much quality time with you. Eating with you. _Not_ eating with you.” He met Julian’s eyes, not caring to hide his sadness. “Preparing meals for you, as well. And enjoying the meals you’ve made for me.”

Julian gave a flat, awkward smile in return. “I’ve enjoyed it too. Loved it, really.”

Fajr adhan began to play, and Julian jolted with shock, putting down the last of his tea. “Oh, damn! Stop, stop eating. I intend to keep my fast today, in the name of Allah, during this holy month of Ramadan.”

Garak grumbled, but set aside his unfinished drink and uttered, “Ditto.”

Julian smiled a little. “I’m going to pray and then head out. Um— I’ve been meaning to ask you...”

“Hm?”

Julian hesitated, waiting a while for the adhan to finish, unwilling to talk over it.

When the room fell silent again, he asked, “Are you staying the night tonight, too?”

Garak’s lips parted. “Ah. As always, I rather suspect it depends on how late I stay. If it’s an inconvenience to you—”

“Oh, no!” Julian grabbed Garak’s hand. “No. I like the company. I just— See, the thing is, the last ten days of Ramadan are seen as especially holy, as those are the days that it’s said Prophet Muhammad recieved the first revelation of the Qu’ran. Prayers made in that time are particularly powerful. ‘Laylat al-Qadr’ – the ‘Night of Power’ – is usually one of the odd-numbered dates. Technically I missed the main night for it. I’ve been putting my observation off, thinking maybe I... I might not... Because it would just be lip service, wouldn’t it, given I’m decidedly more agnostic than I ought to be. But I think I do want to.”

“Do what?”

“Stay up overnight. Pray. It’s meant to be sort of magical.”

Garak raised his eye ridges, and a small smile. “And you wish for me to join you.”

“Oh! I mean, if you wanted. You don’t have to. No, I asked because I thought you should have some warning that I’ll be up all night.”

Garak got to his feet and bowed his torso, keeping hold of Julian’s hand as he did. “I shall be here.”

Julian smiled widely. “Okay.”

Garak seemed to hesitate for a moment, eyes on their joined hands...

He moved as if he was about to bring Julian’s hand to his face, but halfway up, he let it go.

“Forgive me,” he said. “for I must take my leave. Thus, I bid you a day of blessings and a successful last fast, my dearest Julian.”

The doors closed behind his departing figure, and Julian’s hand felt empty.

Julian at once turned to Kukalaka. A trembling whisper: “Did you see that?”

Kukalaka had.

Julian wore a shaky smile as he lifted Kukalaka from the table and brought him into a tight hug, fuzzy bear head tucked under a sharp chin. Julian’s heart raced, electric thrills striking his skin from the inside.

Then he shook his head and pulled Kukalaka back to look into his eyes. “I can’t believe how much has changed, can you?” He looked out into the wilderness of space, eyes glazed with memories. “All that... sadness, everything I felt at the start. Guilt, even. Hiding it from my friends, too embarrassed to share, too shy, too sure I was going to give up and fail. Made sense at the time. Oh, _you_ remember – disconnected from other people of the same faith, expecting to celebrate the Eid festival essentially alone with no unique traditions. I don’t think I’d have gotten through this without Garak. Certainly wouldn’t feel so comfortable about it all.

“But it’ll be nice. Just me and Garak together tonight. And me and Garak together for Eid. I was so sure my religious practise should be a private thing, but now I don’t think I _could_ do it alone.”

Julian looked down at his bear. “Do you think... when Garak comes over tonight... or Eid tomorrow... it could be like a date?”

Immediately he flashed with terror and begged, “Oh, no. No, don’t let me think _that_! Oh, God. Rabbit hole. _Deep_ rabbit hole.” He hurriedly put Kukalaka down and scrubbed his palms over his face. “Hhnnnng.”

Kukalaka waited until Julian calmed himself.

Finally Julian explained, “What’s _wrong_ with it,” he said, addressing Kukalaka’s unspoken question, “is that every damn person who I’ve clued into what I’m doing here has essentially become exactly what I’ve been looking for. I wanted a connection to family, didn’t I, Kuuks? And here they all are, _being_ my family. What was it Garak said? Family are not the people you came from, but the people you go to. The ones who welcome you and call you family. And that’s them! Miles. Keiko and Molly. Kira... Jadzia. Captain Sisko. Basically everyone else on this station, now.” Julian drew a breath. “And Garak, especially.” He lowered his eyes. “He’s my family.”

He gave Kukalaka a soft look. “And if I’m really set on this, practising Islam without breaking the rules, then there’s no deeper place for Garak in all this. He loves me; I know he does. That’s what he really meant, about the Eid gift; he wants things from me I’m in no position to give. He’ll be too careful never to overstep my boundaries, and I’ll end up keeping him in a desperate, pining stasis, maybe forever. Because I can’t ever kiss him or make love with him without marrying him first. And unless I was prepared to do that—”

He paused, mouth open, thought halfway formed.

“I mean...”

He thought some more. A tender, longing look floated past his face then turned back and landed there.

His eyes fell to Kukalaka. “Is that mad? That’s mad, isn’t it. Thinking about marrying Garak.”

Kukalaka let him decide.

Julian scoffed and clawed his hands back through his hair. “Good God, my brain _is_ pudding. I think I need some more sleep. Come on, you! Fajr time, then _we’re_ taking a _nap_.”

He picked up Kukalaka and headed back to the bedroom.

  
☪  



	9. Night of Power

Julian couldn’t help it – having Garak close made him burn. For hours his face remained faintly flushed down to his neck, his hands eager, moving to touch Garak’s of their own accord; his eyes always sought more contact. All smiles were wide and chased by chesty laughter. Heart: warmed.

Garak had arrived in time for maghrib then stayed another hour after iftar, now closing in on two. Julian had ushered him to the sofa soon after the meal ended, wanting to sit close, close enough that their thighs touched and their heat mingled and Julian could smell the tea on Garak’s breath. He wanted to bend into him as he laughed, and push him playfully, and make sure Garak saw the darkness in his eyes.

He wanted more and more desperately as the night went on, as back on Earth the moon showed the first sliver of a crescent over Arabia, and Eid began. With each passing hour, his fantasies felt less and less abstract.

Oh, but it would only be selfish to start something between them. Yes, Garak would be gratified by a kiss or perhaps any other form of romantic connection, but what of the months or years after? Wanting him was a danger to Julian’s religious fidelity. His lust was out of place. Kiss Garak, and a month if not a future lifetime of intention was undone.

Or was it?

Julian had doubted many a thing about Islam over the course of Ramadan, and still couldn’t quite see the sense in avoiding something as simple as a kiss. How could two people marry without knowing how they liked each other’s scent, touch, taste? He could understand saving more intimate contact for the privacy and trust of a completed marriage bond, but just a kiss? A night in innocent embrace?

Julian watched Garak’s lips shape around words, beautiful unheard words, and prayed with his whole heart that the right answer would present itself. He prayed a decision would be made for him, because he couldn’t make it himself.

All he wanted was to fall upon those lips and taste them; wet and slow, hot and fast; bitten and breath-licked. He wanted to draw air from Garak’s lungs, and hold his dear face, and hear a low hum of delight echoing between them as the air rushed free of them both, leaving them breathless.

Panic flared – until Julian remembered his final fast was over now, and a little lustful thought wasn’t forbidden anymore.

But even so, this was hardly a little. He was getting lost amongst desire. He’d held back all month and now he gorged on the feast of Garak’s pretty blue eyes, the way he waggled a finger to make a point, the curve of his plump lips as he smiled his sly smile. Wide shoulders. Friendly hands. _My dear._

Engulfing flame wafted away as Julian fought to control himself, grappling for full consciousness and dragging his attention to what Garak actually said.

“—But as you’ve pointed out many a time, doctor, the zakat donation is an important part of the Ramadan process. I hope you’ll agree I made the right choice – I’ve decided to donate my funds to a Bajoran charity, focused on rebuilding or redesigning what the Cardassians destroyed on Bajor during the Occupation. For some time I’ve wavered on giving my earnings to Major Kira to allocate, but after you reminded me of the importance of anonymity, I... Doctor? What have I said?”

Julian realised Garak had seen his lovestruck, doe-eyed look. He hurriedly tried to straighten it into a regular smile, but it came out wonky and even more doe-eyed when Julian replied, “I think that’s a perfect idea, Garak.”

Garak seemed mildly taken aback, but he smiled. “I’m glad. Might I ask where you intend to donate? Unless it’s too personal a question.”

“Oh, I did it already, today. It’s not exactly a formal charity, and anonymity would’ve made it suspicious, but I gave some money to Odo and asked him to use it to help rehome people and families passing through DS9 who’ve been displaced by the war. It’s obviously no barrel of latinum, but freighters heading into safer space sometimes need paying off, and Federation credits have some sway, I suppose. If it helps, it helps. Odo’s just determined not to let Quark know he has actual credits at his disposal now.”

Garak chuckled. “An admirable cause, doctor.”

Julian hummed, head tilted, a finger toying along the shoulder seam of Garak’s tunic. “Are you really staying with me? All night?”

Intrigued by the question, Garak intensified his gaze. “If you still want me.”

Julian nodded softly. “I was going to turn the lights out to pray. You could sleep if you wanted.”

“Perhaps,” Garak said.

Julian drew a breath through parting lips, licking them slick and warm. Garak’s gaze dipped to Julian’s mouth; static charged through Julian’s soul and into Kukalaka’s.

Julian couldn’t let this continue. Not now.

He turned away and got up, leaving Garak alone with his blanket.

“Um...” Julian flustered. “I’m— Going to wash up. And then— Start praying.”

And so he did.

Garak was the one to darken the room with a command, and now only starlight twinkled from the oval portholes like two watchful, infinite eyes of Allah.

Julian calculated the position of Earth from this place in DS9’s rotation, and placed his mat facing his bedroom door. He stood at the end and readied himself for deep prayer.

Before he began, Garak left the sofa and stood beside him, holding Kukalaka.

Julian looked over. “What are you doing?”

“May we join you?” Garak asked.

In that moment Julian felt so much that a burst of his grateful exhilaration crossed the space between himself and Garak, and Kukalaka sensed it, even safe in Garak’s hands.

Julian nodded a few times, eyes glossy with tears. He scooted over a half-step to the right so Garak could share the mat.

Julian faced the stars again and raised his hands beside his ears, focusing his heart and mind on his devotion.

For the first five minutes, he proceeded to pray his isha salat as usual. It was one of the longest prayers, with four rakats, or units of prayer. Four times he bent at the waist and found Garak doing the same beside him with Kukalaka held upon his knee. Four times Julian knelt and Garak knelt too. Eight times Garak’s ridged forehead touched the edge of the same mat, in perfect time with Julian.

Julian finished his prayer kneeling, turning to his right shoulder and muttering, “Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah.” _May the peace and mercy of Allah be with you._ To his left. “Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah.”

Garak watched him, eyes ashine in the sparkling light.

Julian smiled. “Assalamu alaikum to you, too,” he uttered.

“ _Does_ this bring you peace?” Garak asked.

Julian nodded. “It’s like everything disappears for a while. It’s hard sometimes – I get distracted. My foot itches. I start thinking about something else. I notice the corner of the mat is crooked and it bothers me. But I shut my eyes and make sure the words draw me back. Always.”

Garak inclined his head and turned his eyes ponderously to the mat, accepting that answer.

“Garak,” Julian murmured.

“Hm?”

“You don’t know this,” Julian said, his voice rough with oncoming emotion, “but my mother always s-said that... a prayer given on this night is worth the prayers of a thousand months. A _lifetime_ of prayers.”

Without warning, Julian’s eyes flooded with tears. “Thank you for joining me.”

Garak didn’t look back.

Julian smiled, lips shaking, eyes glistening wet. “You say there’s no redemption for you.” He slid a hand across and held Garak’s on his folded knee. Garak took it, fingers wrapped around Julian’s. “I say you just found it.”

Garak only bowed his head further.

“Do you want to keep going?” Julian asked.

Garak nodded. All at once his vulnerability, desperation, and love flowed through Kukalaka as easily as Julian’s emotions might. Besides Julian, nobody but a child was ever so emotionally open when holding Kukalaka. Garak let his walls crumble and he surrendered. Surrendered entirely.

He let Julian open his palm with spread fingers; he watched as Julian showed him the crinkled divides between each bone of his fingers, told him how each finger had three sections, and ninety duas could be counted if he went thrice from thumb-tip on the right to thumb-tip on the left, and then one more for each finger made a hundred.

Julian’s entire being overflowed with affection as he gave Garak the prayer they could both say: “Astaghfirullah allahu rabbi wa atubu ilayhi.”

Of course Garak heard it translated: _I seek the forgiveness of Allah, my Lord, and I repent before Him._

Garak spoke in a hush. “Astaghfirullah allahu rabbi wa atubu ilayhi.

“Astaghfirullah allahu rabbi wa atubu ilayhi.

“Astaghfirullah allahu rabbi wa atubu ilayhi.”

Garak began to weep, body curling down, hands shaking. “Astaghfirullah allahu rabbi wa atubu ilayhi.”

Julian folded into him, holding him, forehead touching Garak’s hunched back.

“Astaghfirullah allahu rabbi wa atubu ilayhi. Astaghfirullah allahu rabbi wa atubu ilayhi.”

Julian listened but didn’t say it with him. Just listened. And understood. And felt Garak tremble with every gasp of breath and every dua counted on his finger, place marked with his thumbpad, shifted with each prayer.

He’d wanted this. Elim Garak had craved forgiveness and peace the way Julian craved a connection to those who he’d never known. Garak knew too much, had seen too much, had done things he thought he could never escape.

He escaped everything now.

In breaths.

In whispers.

Held in Julian’s arms.

  
☪  



	10. Eid ul-Fitr

Julian woke with a happy groan. He stretched, long and lean in his bed with a hand on the headboard and toes vibrating their way out from the end of his covers. He then flumped back into bliss, a little smile curling up one side his lips.

Eyelashes fluttered; green eyes peeked out. He smiled even wider when he saw Kukalaka tucked in his arm.

Julian startled and sat up. He was in the same clothes he’d worn last night – loose pants, cotton shirt.

He didn’t remember going to bed.

He looked at Kukalaka in wonder. “I fell asleep?” He glanced around the room, but Garak wasn’t there. He sat closer to the edge of the bed, on alert. “GaraaAAAk?” he called, making sure his voice carried to the other side of his quarters.

No answer.

It was definitely morning; the lights were on in the living room.

“Hmm.” Julian tucked Kukalaka against the pillow and pulled up the blanket to keep him warm. “ _You_ must’ve been paying attention. Did I get here myself or did he... carry me?”

Kukalaka would never tell.

Julian hummed. Still dazed, he got up – and then stopped.

On the end of his bed was a small pile of clothes.

“Ohhhh,” Julian breathed, fingers touching the folded shalwar kameez. “Kukalaka, look! He left this while I was sleeping...”

He lifted the tunic from its shoulder seams, and it unfolded before him, torso mirroring torso. The pale yellow linen hung without a crinkle, half-sleeves cuffed with golden beading to match the decoration around the buttonless split of the collar. The split went so low it would reach halfway to his navel.

“That is _not_ the collar I ordered,” Julian said in delight. “God, it’s _beautiful_.”

He undressed in a hurry, throwing his current clothes onto the floor and changing his underwear. Admiring the kameez one more time, he turned it around and donned it, pulling it over his head.

It was a snug fit but didn’t feel tight or taut anywhere. He raised his arms and had no trouble doing so. He bent forward and the back of the tunic rode up, but a hand swept over his buttocks proved he wasn’t indecently exposing himself.

With a grin, he then took the tie-waisted shalwar pants and pulled them up underneath the tunic. Julian hadn’t explicitly asked for a patterned fabric, but Garak, knowing Julian’s natural inclinations towards wearable garishness, had chosen something paisley-esque – subtle enough, however, that it remained elegant.

Smiling hugely, Julian turned to Kukalaka. “How do I look?” He turned back and forth, showing off. Then he ran to the bathroom and a yelp carried back – “I look amazing! Gosh. What’s that thing I’m supposed to say when— Oh! Alhamdulillah. Subhanallah? Both? Both.”

After a minute of general refreshment, followed by ritualised refreshment, he strutted from the bathroom back to the bedroom, beaming. “Right.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I have a day off for Eid. No work. Obviously I don’t have a congregation to share Eid prayers with, but I’m sure there’s a mosque program in the Federation files I can download to use in the holosuite. It’s not my faaaaavourite idea, but given that Garak’s willing to join me, I can deal with the whole standing-shoulder-to-shoulder thing for just _one_ prayer, can’t I. Computer, time?”

“ _Time is ten-hundred hours_.”

“Bother.” He fetched his combadge and clipped it to his tunic, then tapped it once. “Bashir to Garak.”

“ _Hm..._ ” Garak’s voice was thick with sleep. “ _Doctor?_ ”

“Sorry to wake you. We should head over before Quark’s place fills up with the early lunch crowd. Eid prayer’s meant to be between fajr and zuhur anyway.”

“ _Hhhh... Acknowledged, doctor. I’ll be there... soon._ ”

Julian smiled as the communication ended.

Hands on his hips, he lost himself in daydreams for a half-minute or so, chewing his lip and blinking at length. Kukalaka sensed an awful lot of warmth radiating from him; it wasn’t quite arousal but there was certainly a stirring of electricity in his heart and lower belly.

“Mmmhhh. I think I’ll do it, Kuuks,” he decided, giving Kukalaka a bumbling nod. “I think I have to. Garak’s coming over around mid-afternoon – I could set the table with candles, hang some decorations... Eid party, yes. But a date too. Would be a shame not to, now that I have such a pretty outfit. I ought to... thank him properly.”

He blushed, and palmed at his hot cheeks.

“Anyhow.” Julian gave Kukalaka a firm salute. “Enjoy your lie-in, old chum. I’ll be back in an hour or so. And I’ll tell you all about it then.”

  
☪  


“Am I... _understanding_ this correctly?” Garak stood with Julian in the hallway of doors leading to the holosuites. “You’re expecting me to voluntarily enter a crowded courtyard and cram myself between strangers, all lined up to pray.”

“They’re holo-characters, Garak; they’re not real.”

“But, as I’m sure you’ll remember, they _feel_ real.”

Julian twirled his holosuite data rod like a tiny baton over his fingers. “That really makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Crowds trigger your claustrophobia.”

Garak replied coolly, “The truth is, doctor, I’ve gone back and forth over the events of last night and I must say: whatever absurdities may have passed my lips in the depths of fatigue no longer hold true, if they ever did. I’ll wait for you out here, certainly. But it’s only fair you enjoy your Eid prayers with those you have more in common with. I’m sure, being forms constructed of light, holosuite characters are veritable angels to you. What better company for Eid prayers?”

Julian gave Garak a knowing smile, eyes half-hooded. “You’re not getting out of this so easily, Garak. If you’ve taught me anything in our time together it’s that any sentence of yours starting ‘the truth is...’ is almost certainly comprised of falsehoods. Come on.” He took Garak’s elbow and gave it an encouraging shake. “I’ll edit the program. Take out the crowds.”

Garak soured, clearly prepared to stick to his story, but when Julian stuck the data rod into the holosuite panel and actually began to adjust settings, Garak relaxed and said nothing.

Julian looked back over his shoulder, caught Garak’s eyes, and smiled.

The holosuite doors opened on a deserted white-marble courtyard, swept with the gorgeous pink light of very early morning.

Flocks of birds fluttered away as Julian stepped into a snug heat. Fifty birds shot under and over stone arches, then up into the tangerine sky. They took a sharp left and went to perch en masse on the right-hand minaret of the nearby mosque.

Julian paced further into the court, sandals snapping onto stone with each step. Two tangled breezes came to flutter at the hem of his kameez; he drew a deep breath from the wind and smelled honeysuckle blossom.

He heard the doors drone shut behind him. He turned, half-expecting to be alone – but Garak had followed him in before the doors vanished. Their eyes met but Garak glanced away.

Now Garak peered around in interest. His grey, ridged face had no harshness to it in this gentle light; his eyes shone in palest blue, and the start of a pleasant smile lent sympathy to his darkly-dressed, boxy figure.

“Fitting, I suppose,” Julian said. His voice was swallowed up by the humidity, but the closeness of speech made even the open space seem intimate. “I didn’t want to do this alone. And thanks to you, I’m less alone in an empty courtyard than I would be in one packed with people.”

He reached back and took Garak’s hand, meeting his eyes carefully when he startled.

“Allahu-akbar,” Julian said. “Allahu-akbar—”

Garak squinted judgmentally. “ _What_ are you doing?”

“Saying the adhan. What else? It’s time to pray, Garak. Allahu—”

“But, my _dear_ doctor, it’s meant to be _sung_.” Garak set a fist to his lips and cleared his throat. “AllllaAAAahu-akbar, Alllaaa-a-a-a-AA-hu-akbar—!”

Julian laughed, head down, palm pressed to his forehead. Garak was actually singing. Loudly.

When Garak carried on, Julian glanced at him... and his embarrassment faded.

And he listened.

The immediacy of Garak’s voice pummelled Julian’s eardrums, being so loud and so close. However, as his baritone filled the court with long vowels, a perfectly ethereal reverberation came back to them, adding layer upon layer of depth to simple music.

Julian took a breath and started to sing along.

Quietly.

But his whole heart balanced upon every word. And his hand remained tucked into Garak’s.

  
☪  


“So, then... we prayed,” Julian told Kukalaka, a helpless smile curling his lips and crinkling his eyes. “Out there in the courtyard. Two rakats. Could’ve gone into the mosque, but it was just so nice out there...” He bounced his bear in his hands. “Even with the marble being so horrible against knees and cold on foreheads, the whole thing was... nice.

“Special.

“Maybe one of the best moments of my life so far, really.”

Kukalaka felt him doubt that statement for a flash of a second, but then his smile grew; his chest warmed until it practically glowed. He’d decided.

A beautiful place, empty but not lonely.

Rising sun warm on his right cheek, reflecting gold into one eye.

Garak pressed to his side, both of them facing the same way, uttering heartfelt prayers in time with each other.

“No; it was,” Julian told his bear.

“It was _the_ best moment of my life.”

  
☪  


Private quarters on DS9 were notoriously plain and dark. Julian did appreciate the gloom, since after the bustle and brightness of a day in the Infirmary, a respite for his overactive senses was a welcome comfort.

For a party, however, he felt that the grates in the ceiling that chopped up the light were a little greedy on that particular resource, and the table looked a bit plain. A dash of colour wouldn’t be amiss.

He replicated some funky lantern lights, and strung them along with some beaded fairy lights in swoops between the ceiling grates, standing on a dining chair to reach. He hung spiralling rainbow streamers from the ceiling too, and perhaps went somewhat overboard, because once he got down off his chair, he realised crossing from the front door to the sofa was like stalking through a very peculiar jungle of vines. No matter; even the bristly noises the streamers made when tickling shoulders were fun.

Garak had promised to provide the meal for today, so Julian didn’t need the heating element. He stashed it away out of sight and tidied up the living room so there’d be no distractions for their date.

_Date!_

He uttered the word to himself a number of times, sometimes in awe, sometimes in disbelief. One time, in offence. But he always came back to gladness and smiles and that simmering heat in his belly. He drifted out of reality and into fantasy several times over the early afternoon. He awoke from his daydreams to find he’d lost a chair, only to later find it in the bathroom, and on another occasion he had taken six more forks out of the replicator than required.

Mostly he wasted time, burning through the hours between now and when Garak would arrive.

As the fated hour closed in, Julian began to fuss with his appearance, checking his tunic was straight and his face wasn’t prickly and his tousled hair wasn’t about to part awkwardly if he or Garak ran a hand through it.

“What do you think?” Julian asked Kukalaka, holding the bear so they could both see into the floor-length bedroom mirror. He licked his lips wet again. “With shine?” He wiped his lips dry on the back of his hand. “Without?”

Kukalaka wasn’t a whole lot of help, really. But Julian decided anyway. “With. Adds a little something.”

He went to the replicator and ordered, “Lip... gloss?”

A small tube appeared.

He spent another eight minutes cross-legged in front of his mirror, putting the cosmetic on and smearing it off again. It was either too much, or he felt disappointingly unadventurous, so in the end he settled on a finger-dab of the gloss across his lower lip, giving his pout a shimmer but not a glaring line of light across the plumpest part.

“Kissable,” he confirmed. “But it’s he-keeps-looking-at-my-mouth kissable, not he-can’t-wait-to-ravage-me-against-a-wall kissable. Just right.”

He went to wash the shiny residue off the back of his hand, then returned to the living room with Kukalaka under an arm.

“Now, _you’re_ staying _here_ ,” Julian said firmly to his bear, parking him between the tidy sofa cushions. “I’m about to light the candles, and I’m not having you anywhere near an open flame.”

So Kukalaka watched from a short distance away as Julian tipped a long, lit match against each of the beeswax tiers on the table. The flickering flames reflected on the window pane, tickling a distant galaxy.

Having waved the match dead, Julian ended up tossing it onto the table because that notorious _blee-bleep_ had sounded and he had no time to put it anywhere else.

Julian stood before the doors, readying himself. Slow breath out. Two tiny hops on his heels. Swallow.

“Come in, Garak.”

The doors opened and a small crowd’s conversation pattered away, and one by one, grinning faces turned to Julian.

“Eid Mubaraaak!” Jadzia cried, arms out, throwing herself around Julian’s shoulders. “Mwah. Mwah.” She kissed each cheek, then back to the first: “Mwah.”

Julian looked at her, dazzled by surprise. “Eid Mubarak to you, too.”

“Eid Mubarak, Julian,” Kira said, hugging Julian with one arm and repeating the three kisses.

Julian was still processing the presence of all his friends when Miles and Keiko caught his attention. His smile widened, turning to a chuckle and a lip-bite-grin as he was taken for two more hugs and six more kisses.

He crouched to offer little Molly a heartfelt “Eid Mubarak,” and was treated to one big, wet, delicate kiss on the highest point of his cheek. He cooed and thanked her, then stood.

By now everyone’s scents filled the room, and thus mingled on the back of his tongue, familiar and unexpected. The brew was added to by Captain Sisko, who passed a bowl of covered food to his son before offering open arms. Julian accepted with a laugh, eyes scrunched tight in glee as his captain kissed the air beside each cheek.

Nog, Rom, and Leeta had also arrived, and like Dax and Sisko, had brought dishes of food so large that they could only be intended for sharing.

At last Julian had received hugs and kisses from everyone who wanted to provide them – Jake Sisko had settled for a quick back-pat hug and no kiss; Nog and Rom merely stood by, grinning. Worf lurked.

Now Julian looked around for Garak.

Aha. He found those unmistakable blue eyes through the chattering crowd.

“What, don’t I get a hug?” Julian complained with a smirk.

Garak edged his way closer, gaze intent. “May I?”

Julian opened his arms, nodding.

They squished together. Garak grasped the back of Julian’s head and lower back while Julian slung both arms around the nape of Garak’s neck and gripped his shoulder scales. Julian shut his eyes and breathed in Garak’s cloister-dust scent, inhaling to the bottom of his lungs – then hummed as he exhaled.

“Eid Mubarak, my dear doctor,” Garak murmured, all but nuzzling his ridged temple against Julian’s. Their heads stayed in contact as Garak turned his head, putting a kiss on Julian’s cheek, lingering... then lifted to the other cheek, giving an even longer kiss.

Julian kept his eyes shut, his face relaxed as he savoured this moment.

Garak pulled back, and their eyes met. Julian longed for his inevitable third kiss, lips parting, shiny in the lantern light...

Garak shut his eyes and leaned in—

Julian’s eyelashes fluttered in disappointment as the third kiss touched feather-light to his cheek once more.

Yet he smiled, keeping hold of Garak’s hand as their bodies separated.

“Did you invite them all?” Julian asked, cocking his head to the crowd, who by now had taken over his quarters with their chatter, charm, and energy.

“A festival is not a thing to celebrate alone, doctor,” Garak cooed. “One’s family is vital to vivacity.”

“You’re right,” Julian said. “I didn’t expect it, but...”

His breath shuddered as gratitude danced through him. He watched: the Siskos carried Julian’s food-prep table closer to the dining table, and now the others piled it up with a home-cooked buffet. They conversed between themselves, smiling and laughing and admiring each other’s special-occasion outfits. Worf lifted Molly up so she could touch the lanterns and see what they were made of.

Julian nodded. “For a very long time, somehow I just didn’t see it. This _is_... what I’ve been looking for.”

Miles snorted nearby. “Don’t you mean ‘cooking for’?”

Julian gave his friend’s arm a gentle backhanded smack, only for Miles to cackle and wander off with a collection of finger foods gathered on a plate.

“What was the meaning of that?” Garak asked.

But Julian laughed and shook his head, a hand to his forehead. He let his hand slip low again, eyes shining with mirth. There was no disappointment in him. No, this event wasn’t destined to be a date. But it was glorious and full of love in any case.

“Oi,” Miles said, munching something in one cheek as he approached Julian again. “Do we give you gifts now, or what?”

Julian’s mouth opened. “Aaaaaaah. Yes. Yes, alright. If you like. You really didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”

“Too late. Here.” Miles handed over the same canvas bag the hippo game had been transported inside. “Enjoy.”

Julian peeked into the bag, pulling it open with a single finger. He started to laugh and rolled his eyes. “ _Very_ clever,” he said. He beckoned and took Miles into another hug, while Miles held his plate out to the side, still chewing. “Let’s see _us_ logging fifty-seven hours a month playing _this_.”

“Hey, it’s not bad,” Miles chuckled. “It’s checkers and chess and all sorts all in one. We could make up our own games, too.”

“I bet we could,” Julian agreed.

“Non-violent,” Miles pressed.

Julian grinned. “It’s a great gift, Miles. Thank you. Once we’re sick of this, though, I’ve found a handful of decently adventurous holosuite games we can try. And I’ll play darts again, don’t worry.”

Miles blasted out a sound of relief, head back. “Thank God. I’d go mad playing _checkers_ with you forever.”

Julian cackled, patting Miles on the shoulder. “I’ll put this somewhere special. By the way—” He ducked his head in an embarrassed laugh. “My Eid gift to you might sound like a last-minute cop-out, but I promise you I put thought into it. It’s an I-O-U for tickets to Earth to see your families. For you and Keiko and Molly and Yoshi.” He smiled at Keiko, who’d been eavesdropping, and now grinned at him. “Whenever the timing’s convenient, hit me up, and I’ll cover any travel and residential expenses. No limit.”

Keiko gave him another hug, and he accepted it with a hand on her back. Snug in her embrace, Julian smiled at Garak, who lingered close by, watching and listening with a faint curve on his lips.

Keiko pulled out of the hug and framed Julian’s face with both hands on his jaw. She gave him a considering look. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome, Keiko,” Julian said softly.

Keiko turned to look over her shoulder, bright-eyed. “Quit skulking and give him your gift, Garak.” She turned back to Julian and explained, “He’s a little nervous you won’t like it. But believe me, it’s just about the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh dear,” Julian remarked. “It had better not put this outfit to shame.” He plucked at his kameez. “Woke up this morning and thought an angel had stopped by.”

Garak gave a modest smile, eyes down.

“Go onnnn,” Keiko encouraged, taking Garak’s arm. “While we’re all here.”

Julian grinned. “I told him not to give me anything, but now you’ve gotten me all impatient. C'mon, Garak, what is this thing, and where are you hiding it?”

Garak conceded, and cleared his throat. He went to the buffet table and lifted a cylindrical poster tube, iridescent with a golden sheen. “I realise that you thought it unnecessary. But in my world, doctor, even the most mundane objects ought to have some aesthetic value.”

He offered Julian the tube. The small crowd, who’d half been paying attention, now paid a little more.

Julian turned the tube longways, fingers grasping the sealed end. He tugged twice, and the lid came off with a _schwup_!

Julian peered in, but the inside circle just looked dark. He turned the tube and held out a hand to catch its contents—

Fabric collapsed into his palm, tasselled in gold and as colourful as a rainbow. He handed the tube to Jake, focusing entirely on the velvet something-or-other rolled up in his hands.

He unrolled the roll, and it dropped open. The blank woven back faced Julian, but the people who saw its front all gasped. Julian turned the fabric, and held it over his hands—

“It’s a prayer mat!” Julian’s excitement flared through the room in pulses. “Garak— Oh my _God_ , it’s exquisite! And so _soft_...”

He held up the rectangular rug from its tasselled top corners so he could see the art properly. Its outer edges featured five encroaching inches of border, golden leafy patterns and blooming flowers outlined in black. Centred at the top was an elaborate pointed arch, traditional in Islamic architecture; its shape was filled in with yet more patterns and swirls. The inside portion was plainer, decorated in criss-cross lines: so delicate, so detailed. Parts of the background were dyed a rich mustard orange, while other parts had splashes of a perfect cobalt blue, or purple, or Julian’s favourite shade of turquoise. It could have been tie-dye, were it not for the very clear fact that this had been hand-woven. Garak had created a truly unique gift.

Julian’s grin trembled, and the mat collapsed over his hands as he flung himself against Garak, hugging him tight.

Garak, although too stunned to respond at first, soon relaxed and touched Julian’s neck, smiling against his ear. People pattered applause, making agreeable noises.

“Better than a bedsheet?” Garak asked, a sultry rumble in Julian’s ear.

“You know it is,” Julian murmured, nosing into Garak’s shoulder. He stayed there for a while, then eased back, aware people were watching.

Julian sniffed as he fell back completely. “Um,” he said, still tight-throated. He looked at the mat again, shuddered through a smile, then said, “I got you something... as well. It’s nowhere near as good, but—”

“Ah-ah!” Garak held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear your deprecations, doctor.”

Julian grinned. “Wait here.”

He handed Garak the mat, then went to fetch a bulky set of items from his room. He hid them behind his back as he approached, but other people snuck a look. Nobody but Miles understood their significance, and the amused huff that flew from his mouth was enough to make Julian’s grin widen to its absolute limit.

Garak waited, eyes darting between Julian’s enlivened gaze and his tucked-away hands.

“It’s less about the thing itself,” Julian admitted as his grin shrank to a gentle, confident smile, “and more about... intention.” He met Garak’s eyes and held them.

And then he brought his gifts forward, presenting Garak with a nested set of black cooking pans with sleek golden handles.

Garak gave a chirp of delight and accepted the pans as Julian took back his prayer mat.

“I just,” Julian said, “was hoping we could keep on... eating together.” He rolled a shoulder. “Cooking for each other. Talking... late into the night. Indefinitely.”

Garak turned his eyes from the gift to Julian, and his shoulder ridges sank, eyes dewy and smile tender. “My dear,” he said, “I could wish for nothing more joyous than exactly that.”

Julian, on the other hand, had something more joyous to wish for.

But that was for later.

When they were alone.

  
☪  



	11. Satisfaction

Julian’s friends weren’t the sort of people to leave after a party while the place was still a mess. Yet the room had cleared out before twenty-three-thirty, leaving behind a frightening number of empty plates and strings of streamers across every surface. Julian hadn’t said anything, and Garak hadn’t said anything, and neither Miles nor Jadzia nor Keiko had deigned to even mention the real reason they left, but it seemed everyone understood perfectly: Garak and Julian needed to be alone together.

Maybe they’d been giving off _signals_ all evening. Maybe they’d seemed impatient. Maybe Julian hadn’t been able to keep his attention on whoever he’d been talking to and only had eyes for one snack-happy Cardassian. Maybe Garak had spent a full hour sitting on the couch with a calf tossed over his knee and a drink in his hand, sipping while studying Julian across the room. Maybe when their slow rotations around the room brought them together, they couldn’t keep their hands (or shoulders, or thighs, or chests) away from each other. Maybe they laughed too much when the other spoke. Maybe Julian kept biting his lip, and Garak kept straightening his posture.

Whether their yearnings had been conveyed between the guests in whispers or had gone unsaid but easily observed, the result was an empty room and a ringing silence.

Now Garak stood by the buffet table, stacking plates.

Julian picked up streamer after streamer, prying them from the sofa and carpet and collecting their wispy strands over his fingers. He paused, straightened up, and watched Garak scrape the speckled remains of jambalaya, crumbs, and empty cupcake wrappers from three bowls into a fourth.

“You don’t have to do that,” Julian said.

“Neither do you,” Garak replied curtly. “But I can’t imagine you enjoying the task.”

Julian smiled at his friend’s turned back. “Garak?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Garak turned to him, holding a dozen dishes in a pile. He merely smiled, crossing the room to put the mess into the reclaimer. It all dissipated into the void in a spiral of light.

Kukalaka had to be moved from the sofa so Julian could fix up the cushions again. Once returned to his place, the bear’s view of the living room was immediately blocked: Garak met Julian before the sofa and took his elbow. Julian turned to him and straightened; lips parted; eyes met.

“Hello,” Julian said, his tone halfway between surprised and inviting.

“I’m not certain you wanted anyone to notice,” Garak said, “but,” he lowered his gaze to Julian’s mouth, smiled, then glanced back up, “your lips looked especially pretty this evening.”

Julian blushed completely – cheeks red, neck flushed, head down, lips shivering around a smile. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I don’t usually— Lip gloss, I don’t know. Just thought I’d... try it. Figured it might look nice.”

“Oh, it did. Before it wore away. And even then. Even... now.”

Julian gave him a playful look, head slightly tilted. “What are you getting at, Garak?”

“Nothing, my dear. I only wish to pay you a well-deserved compliment.”

“Oh, well, in that case, thank you.” Julian touched Garak’s chest with an open hand, sliding it up until his fingertips touched his collar. “And thank you for sticking with me through this. All of it. Not just the fasting, but helping me figure out what I wanted to get out of it, and... last night. Last night _especially_. Thank you for praying with me. Thank you for putting me to bed. Thank you for joining me for Eid prayers. Thank you for this.” He indicated his shalwar kameez. “Thank you for inviting everyone. And thank you for staying... now.”

He swallowed, then took a breath, tenderness spiralling through him and urging him to press closer – but instead he hurried, “Gosh, this place really is a mess, isn’t it— You take the table, I’ll take the floor—”

“Doctor.” Garak caught both Julian’s elbows and stopped him from leaving their intimate bubble of heat. “Doctor...”

Eye contact remained unbroken. Breaths soft.

“You’re welcome,” Garak said.

He began to pull Julian in, and Julian sank into a much-desired hug, smiling widely as he pressed close and wrapped his arms around Garak. Garak held Julian’s slim waist, then slid his hands to clutch his lower back.

Julian couldn’t help the tiny hum of pleasure that escaped him, and when Garak responded with a bright chuckle and a _snuggle_ into Julian’s shoulder, Julian’s left foot popped off the floor and he leaned entirely into Garak, laughing, balanced and supported by his solid embrace.

Affection quivered in the room, radiating from the place where Julian and Garak’s chests pressed together. It could have been a heatwave for all the wavering distortions it created, seen by nobody but a little stuffed bear on the sofa.

But amongst all the love was a stubborn pinch of dissatisfaction – strong enough in Garak that it matched Julian’s for force. They both wanted _more_ than just a hug, although the hug was truly blissful. They both lingered, uncertain what would happen if they pulled back. Either the hug would be over, or they’d kiss, and either outcome would come too soon.

Garak lurched back first— “Oh! I completely forgot! Wait here, doctor, I have something else for you.”

Although he missed the warmth of Garak’s touch, Julian couldn’t wait to see what Garak had gone to fetch. Garak dug around in the pile of gifts that had amassed on the dining table, some opened and fluffed up with tattery gift-wrap, others saved for later and still neat in their boxes.

“Ah!” Garak pried up a darling little gift-box, navy blue with gold foil printed on it in geometric patterns. He presented it to Julian on two open palms.

Julian took it, fascinated.

He slowly pried up the lid of the gift-box, and immediately _squealed_. “GARAK!” He dropped the entire box on the floor and held up its contents: a miniature version of the shalwar kameez he currently wore. It had the same pale yellow colouring and embroidery and paisley pants, but was too small even for a newborn baby. Big enough, however, for a bear.

“OhmyGodohmyGod I can’t believe— Garak, oh, damn you, you madman! You utter, utter—” Julian threw himself into Garak’s arms and pressed a desperate smooch onto his cheek. “Thank youuuu-hoo-hoo.”

He dropped off Garak and fell to his knees in front of the couch, grabbed Kukalaka, and lovingly began to dress him, popping his head through the wide collar and then tugging the tiny elasticated pants up his stubby little legs.

Once done, Julian looked at Kukalaka with stars in his eyes. The _joy_ that radiated through him was so powerful that Garak felt it as acutely as Kukalaka did. Garak thrummed with affection for Julian, deeper and more dense than any feeling he’d shown before in Kukalaka’s presence. Fondness hung in the space around him like a black velvet cloak heated in the sun, burning hot and glistening.

His eyes never strayed, not as Julian laughed and made Kuakalaka dance along the seat of the sofa, radiant all the while, nor when Julian got to his feet and gave Kukalaka a tight and happy hug.

Nor did he blink when Julian looked from his bear to Garak.

Garak gazed back with love.

Julian noticed.

Julian bowed his head, eyes down, laughing softly as a flutter of fear shot through him. “Do you want some tea?” he asked, desperate to delay yet eager to hurry this all up. Tea was always a safe bet to temper an untimely rush of emotion.

Garak took a moment to reply. “I would appreciate some tea.”

Julian handed his bear to Garak and went to get tea. Kukalaka sank down with Garak as he took his usual place on the sofa, and the bear was treated to a volley of glad feelings, becoming even gladder when Julian handed Garak his red leaf tea and their hands touched on purpose against the mug.

Sitting in his usual crooked manner – one leg folded on the sofa, heel under his crotch, one elbow over the backrest – Julian faced Garak and blew heat from his tea. Garak sipped his, while Julian didn’t.

Kukalaka had rarely been in the presence of this much emotion. And here he was, tucked between two flaming beacons. It was all kept quiet, both men so adamant about hiding their burning love, but oh, how it _seared_ their insides. Julian’s entire torso jittered and buzzed. Garak’s heart ached like a fist clutched it, while something sultry swirled very low in his belly. They both craved whatever was to come in the minutes that followed, neither with any doubt that _something_ was about to happen.

“Garak,” Julian started.

“Yes, doctor.”

Julian wet his lips, leaving them shiny. Garak peered at them, then back to his hungry eyes. His own pupils had blown wide, yet his irises remained full of colour in the dim lantern light.

“I have a complaint to make,” Julian said, plucking at the neckline of his kameez. “This is _not_ the collar I ordered. Not even remotely.”

Although Garak had wished for some other conversation, his heart still leapt at the invitation for an argument. “Oh, but my dear, the elegant reveal of your collarbone and sternum is _most_ becoming.”

“It’s meant to be _modest_! If I weren’t flat-chested I’d have been showing off my cleavage all night!”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, doctor, but do the guidelines for Islamic dress not dictate that a man must be covered from navel to knee? Unless I’m very much mistaken, a slip of visible ‘cleavage’ is not against the rules.”

Julian put down his tea and raised a forefinger. “Okay, _first_ off, that’s not the point; I ordered one thing and you gave me another; and second, yes, you’re right, but frankly, Garak, those rules really bother me.”

“Do they? Why?”

“Well, mostly because it doesn’t make _sense_ that _women_ were told to cover themselves neck to wrist to ankle, and often their hair too, while men could walk around topless in shorts.”

“Hm.” Garak sipped his tea, still giddy after being told off. “Granted, that is a rather wide disparity. But unless there’s something you wish to tell me, dear Julian, there’s no need for you to adhere to the women’s rules.”

“But that’s the thing! The disparity drives me crazy. Obviously a lot’s changed in the last few hundred years. There’s far more room for personal choice these days. But there’s so much bitter _history_ surrounding mandated modesty for women. Not just in Islam, of course, but plenty of it came out of Islamic regions. And then sometimes it went the other way, with the government-mandated _removal_ of hijabs, burqas, and niqābs – and neither is fair. For so many centuries women never had the option to choose how they dressed. I _chose_ a shalwar kameez _because_ it’s modest, _because_ it’s gender-neutral. And you go and cut the bustline like you were preparing me for emergency surgery and got distracted halfway through.”

Garak snorted into his tea and had to put it down. Julian looked around for a napkin, but by the time he glanced back at Garak, Garak had pulled one out of his sleeve and was patting his mouth dry, smirking.

A cool utterance fled Garak’s lips: “Surely there are more elegant comparisons to make, doctor.”

“Surgery’s an art, Garak,” Julian smiled. “As much as embroidery is. And it’s beautiful,” he added. “I complain. But what you made for me _is_ beautiful.”

“I think you’ll find the beauty comes entirely from within yourself, my dear.”

Julian stared into his tea, sucking his lower lip. He wasn’t going to respond, too embroiled in flame to even breathe.

Garak hummed a disarming note. “So! Tell me, doctor. If you disagree so intently about the rules you’ve been adhering to, why do you insist on devoting yourself to this religion? You tell me you wish to reconnect with your ancestors, but you know full-well you’re uncomfortable with the fundamental way they lived, and they no doubt enforced actions that would appall you. You barely know if you believe in Allah, yet you pray as if you believe. Even after a month of chastity and devotion you have more faith and trust in your teddy bear or even _me_ than you do God. Surely there are other more fitting ways to find the relief you seek. Why this, _still_?”

Julian’s eyes twinkled, and he smirked against the lip of his mug. “You tell me. You’re the one who prayed harder than anyone’s ever prayed before, last night. If there’s anyone who knows why I embrace this despite its flaws, you would.”

Garak, taken aback by that, began to smile. He glanced away to wonder.

His attention slowly returned.

Eyes down, he said, “As you know, doctor, I’ve come to see the value of ritual and remaking tradition to suit oneself, especially when one’s lifestyle and personality differs entirely from that of one’s predecessors. I live not on Cardassia, but as an outcast. I am separated from my lineage by force and by preference. And, to say the least, all the men who successfully bred offspring have a trait in common, an inclination to a... certain kind of person, which I myself certainly don’t share.

“Perhaps I won’t be one to pray to my ancestors or engage in ancient rituals, but I do still... _believe_ in my ancestors. Their existence is not part of me, but _all_ of me. I am made up of fragments of everyone who has come before. I may turn my back to them, but they still open their arms to me and beckon me to their ways. Oh, I resist now, despising what they did in their lifetimes, hating that I became so _like_ them – but even the enemy within has something to teach me. The past foretells the future. So I must embrace my _entire_ past to learn from it.

“That said, I don’t think I’m prepared to do that, yet,” Garak went on. “But I, like you, so desperately seek some higher wisdom in the madness of life, and relief from my crimes.

“If I find what I seek in someone else’s god, so be it.

“But if you find it in your own... then, my dear, I wish you a union that only grows stronger.”

Julian nodded once in gratitude. Then he set his tea aside again. “Do _you_ believe in Allah? In a single all-seeing god; a Creator?”

He’d asked before, weeks ago. But they both knew the answer would be different now.

“I believe... there is comfort to be found in releasing control,” Garak said. “But there is strength to be gained in accepting blame, taking responsibility, and making amends. The challenge is in temperance of the two. If prescribed guidelines assist me in finding that balance, then yes, I am open to believing what must be believed to join your tribe.”

“Wh— Oh...” Julian’s heart softened further, disarmed and gratified by the idea that Garak might be thinking about converting to Islam.

But he had to press on: “That wasn’t quite what I meant. Forget the religion. Forget the rules. Forget the people who make God _into_ something. Do you believe there _is_ a Creator? Was the universe woven and embroidered with divine thread, or did life and substance emerge from nothing in an event of wild, random chance?”

“Hm! Cardassians don’t believe in _wild, random chance_ , doctor. So if the universe did indeed begin ‘by chance’, it was caused _by_ something. By a sentient being, person. Or perhaps mere fate.”

“You believe in fate.”

“Oh, I do. Absolutely I do. Parallel to the expanding pathways of the universe, there are things meant for a person, and not meant for them. As conscious beings we differ from the inert matter of the universe in one way: we can choose. It takes trial and error to find those things meant for us. A religion, a way of life, a job, a... a partner. But when something feels right, my dear doctor, if it endures, if it brings joy and safety and prosperity, then it should be _sought_. If seeking is rewarded, then the prize was written in the stars, as your people say. Fated.”

“Fated,” Julian said. “...Like you and me, you mean.”

Hearts pounded. Eyes locked together.

Garak swallowed. “Yes.”

Scorched with want, they gazed into each other’s souls.

But Julian was the first to chill, ice sliding down his spine.

“You say we have choices,” he murmured. “Free will. The ability to bend the rules or break them. But I want to choose for it to be out of my hands, Garak. I really wish for that.” Julian’s voice came out all breathy, words riding his exhales and barely skimming his thoughts. Everything poured from his heart outwards. “I want the choice to be made _for_ me, as though it really is fated regardless of my actions, because by myself I can’t _know_ what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I-I-I don’t know whether I’m allowed to kiss someone... out of wedlock. And even less sure if same-sex romance is allowed. It certainly hasn’t been, historically. A four-hundred-year progressive movement has changed an awful lot, yet people are still arguing about it. But you’re right: if I’ve learned _anything_ this month it’s that sometimes tradition has to be bent to suit the person, and—”

Garak kissed him.

Fingers held Julian’s jaw with a delicate touch. Lips pressed to Julian’s, tucked between each other in softness. Breath curled hot against his upper lip and flooded along his cupid’s bow, burning and chilling along the way. His heart ceased to beat in spirit, but in form it raced, speeding too fast to feel. Garak simply kissed and let Julian become _sure_.

This felt right. This had endured. Each of them brought joy and safety and prosperity to the other, and with each breath they were each more certain: this should be sought.

Their love was written in the stars.

Or written somewhere, anyway.

For a number of minutes they spoke of nothing and just kissed, while empty breaths drew smiles that illustrated things words could not express. The time for words was over. Weeks – nay – _years_ of conversation had been enjoyed; words had been said already.

There would always be more to say.

But this wasn’t the time to say it.

They kissed deeply, softly, slowly, touching from lips down to hips, hands on waists, noses and chins and chests pressing together. They pushed themselves closer and pulled each other in, tasting the shores of new worlds and exploring their borders with tongue tips.

  
  


Once he’d settled in Garak’s lap with both legs tucked beside Garak’s thighs, Julian’s face became painted by such a pretty heat, plump in the lips and plucked in the cheeks, shades of gorgeous rouge emerging under his darker skin. Garak’s breath began to shudder, head tilting more and more as the moments beat on, each thumping heartbeat getting lost among a thousand more the same.

Kukalaka held their relief inside him like a shiny, unpoppable bubble. It was squished out of shape between the fist of desperation and the sunny clouds of mindless pleasure, but Julian and Garak both felt it: _relief_.

Bright. Weightless.

Rising.

Julian snapped out of the kiss, realising relief wasn’t all that rose. He gathered his composure in wet, measured gasps, eyes to the ceiling, then down to Kukalaka, before his gaze drifted helplessly back to Garak.

Garak was just as hypnotised by their contact; the shade in his eyes was surely dark enough to rival the depths of outer space. He held Julian’s waist like he would never let go.

They kissed a few more times, but Julian couldn’t bring himself to fall into it the way he had before.

“A month ago,” he whispered upon Garak’s lips, voice bowing under heavy lust, “I would’ve taken you to _bed_ right about now.”

Garak smiled. He was not disappointed; he was only glad Julian shared the same desire, even if he was repressing it now.

“We can stop here,” Garak said.

“Ohhh, but that’s such a shaaaame,” Julian wailed, squirming in Garak’s lap. Garak rushed to hold him tight – too tight, immobilising him.

“You’ve worked too hard, doctor,” Garak told him firmly, with words soft in his ear. “Maintaining a disciplined faith is more important to both of us than one beautiful night of weakness.”

“Just one?” Julian grinned, nuzzling Garak’s cheek.

“There is only one night before us,” Garak said. “Get through tonight and we can tackle tomorrow’s once it reaches us.”

Julian smiled, body sinking: shoulders, and elsewhere. “Hmmmm.”

Garak gifted him a run of chaste kisses, loving and slow upon his cheek and jaw. There was no less passion in their continued touches, but they lacked the upward build of before. Now they kissed just to kiss, and held each other just to feel held.

“So.” Garak pulled completely out of the kiss and met Julian’s eyes, giving him a bright smile. “This is how it goes, then, until we marry...”

Whether it was a question or a statement went unnoticed; the intention was clear.

Julian chuckled, sparkling all over. But he lowered his head as a small frown descended. “Disappointing...”

Stung with surprise, Garak exclaimed, “Oh, not at all! Not at _all_ , my dear.”

More kisses came, little squishy ones against Julian’s pouting lips, reassuring in new and lovely ways.

Garak then wrapped his arms around Julian’s waist and snuggled right into him, face rubbing his chest and widening the grins across both their faces.

Soon Garak’s rumble came again: “I could not be disappointed, dear Julian.” He looked up, both of them going still as their gazes held on, unyielding. “I’m happy just to be this close. This is... more than I ever dreamed could be.”

Julian smiled, slowly shifting from Garak’s lap back to the sofa. He brought Kukalaka close and cuddled him, leaning into Garak’s welcome touch as he did. A confession fell from Julian, slipping past a smile: “I prayed for this. For you. All through Ramadan. And... even before.”

“Ah, my dear doctor,” Garak said, taking Julian’s hand and lifting it to kiss. Their eyes met again, twinkling. “As did I.” Another kiss. “As did I.”

_Alhamdulillah._

_Thank you for giving us each other._

Kukalaka felt the static course between them, bristling and brewing, making his fur stand on end. But even with the bear tucked beside their joined hands, neither of them noticed.

After so many years abstaining from each other, resisting the temptation for a taste and always going hungry, satisfying their craving had been made all the more fulfilling.

Garak sometimes did like to say that patience had its rewards.

But so did faith.

The Creator’s love would be with them, as it always had been, with or without their offerings. God could be carried like a bear under an arm, offering space and silence for Julian or Garak to fill with their own choices.

Right or wrong, all actions were fated. All was _meant_. All was intentional.

Fate had already been written.

And it would be chosen, too.

Perhaps ‘thoughts’ weren’t something Allah possessed, not in the Human sense – but a care and consciousness resided within all of creation.

Even little teddy bears.

Thus: Allah observed.

And radiated constant love.

**{ the end }**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥ [Art post #1 on tumblr! (Kissing illustration)](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/618851948518572032/eid-mubarak-space-friends-im-here-to-tell-you)  
> ♥ [Art post #2 (Title art & summary)](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/618852058864418818/kukalaka-pov-a-muslimjulian-garashir-fic-by)
> 
> I timed this fic to post on Eid ul-Fitr 2020, but given the questionable predictability of a moon sighting, I could be off by a day or so. Even so: Eid Mubarak! Inshallah wonderful things happen for all of us, not just this year, but for the rest of our long, extraordinary lives. I hope we find ways to belong, even in the most unexpected ways and places. And I hope we are given the opportunities to choose the paths fated for us. (And Inshallah they’re safe, happy, healthy paths, dammit. For us and all our kin.)  
> Elmie x
> 
> P.S. [Here's more of my Garak/Bashir fics to feed your soul.](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=8474&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi)


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